


The Great Catboy Maid Debaucle, Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Selfcest

by Anonymous



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The Are Self Aware, Half-Life, barney's mind, half life vr but the ai are self aware
Genre: (sort of), BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blindfolds, Breeding, Bullying, Come Eating, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Dogboy, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Foot Fetish, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Hidden Sex, Humiliation, Knotting, M/M, Master/Pet, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Press, Medical Kink, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Pet Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Selfcest, Sex Toys, Spanking, Stockings, Tentacles, Titty Fucking, Trans Male Character, Urination, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Wrestling, barney house, blindfold during blowjob, casa de freeman, catboy maid au, catnip abuse, mild dubcon, steppy, the great is it ethical to fuck your clone debate, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Two houses, alike in dignity: Casa de Freeman and Barney House. Sure, learning to live with two alternate universe versions of yourself can have its rough patches, but it seemed like things had finally settled down.....But then Freemind catches a bad case of Catboy Maid disease.
Relationships: Benrey/Barney Calhoun, Benrey/Gordon Feetman, Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Gordon Feetman/Gordon Freemind, barmey calhoun/gordon feetman, barmey/barney, barney calhoun (barney's mind)/gordon freeman (freeman's mind), benrey/ barmey, benrey/barney/barmey, gordon freeman/gordon feetman, gordon freeman/gordon freemind, gordon freeman/gordon freemind/ gordon feetman
Comments: 182
Kudos: 373
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Freemind/Feetman- Lewd Petting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok you know the drill. Don't show this to anyone who wouldn't want to see it (ESPECIALLY the creators). Don't read if you're a minor. Don't try and start Discourse. 
> 
> As a disclaimer, this MAY cause you to catch the Catboy Freemind bug yourself. I've seen it happen, and it ain't pretty. Otherwise, bone apple teeth~

“Um. Can I _help_ you?" Feetman asked dryly. Freemind had decided to sprawl out beside him, effectively barricading Feetman's laptop keyboard from his hands. And he very much needed those two to be in contact in order to fill out job applications, thank you very much.

Freemind turned his head to look at Feetman, his pupil narrowed to a slit. "Don't you play dumb with me. You know what I want." He snapped, tail moving slowly under his dress.

"I-"

"The catnip!" Freemind spoke over him, snapping a finger right in Feetman's fucking face. "I _know_ you're the one who hid it. I don't mind doing this the easy way! Just tell me where it is, and I'll let you go back to making yourself feel better by pretending to be productive."

Feetman slapped his hand away. "It's not _pretending_ , asshole! Anyway, it's not like _your_ job pays any of the bills."

"Well if you'd just rob a bank or two with your little pals like I keep telling you to..." Freemind dropped his arm heavily on the keyboard as he twisted to fully look up at Feetman, earning a wince from the latter.

"Okay, okay," Feetman adjusted his glasses irritably with his middle finger. "We're getting too off track. You can't find the catnip because it's _gone_ , you idiot."

Freemind let out an over dramatic groan as he slowly slid off the table. He ended up at his double's feet. Before Feetman could so much sigh in relief, he felt a weight drop on his thigh. Freemind was resting his head in his lap, ears pointed up at him in attention, eye rounded out in innocence. "Buy me more?" he said in a cutesy voice. Feetman knew he was trying to be adorable, but coming from a ragged-looking, greasy haired scoundrel like Freemind it was more disturbing than anything else.

Feetman gave him an unimpressed look.

"Oh come oooon," Freemind whined. "Buy for me. Buy for me. Buy more. Buy more. More. More. More. Gimme the nip-"

His hounding petered off as Feetman lightly scratched the top of his head. That always did the trick. He rubbed at the base of one of Freemind's ears for good measure.

"guh-" Freemind said, giving a full body stretch in response that ended at the tips of his stocking-clad toes . His tail was tremoring and pointed straight out, lifting up the back of his dress. Not that Feetman could see anything from this angle. Which was good, since he didn't WANT to see. Obviously.

Freemind jerked from his hand. "Wait, no! You won't control me that easily! You can't hmmmmrrrr..." Feetman hummed in response as he scratched at the bottom of Freemind's chin. Freemind unconsciously tilted into the touch as his eye drooped to half closed. "...yyyeah..."

"Who's a good boy," Feetman cooed mockingly, feeling a little mean. He really shouldn't. He was taking advantage of Freemind's new feline instincts. But damn him if it wasn't satisfying to shut him up. He rubbed small circled into the underside of Freemind's jaw. Freemind's eye scrunched shut and he headbutt into Feetman's stomach.

"Bastard," he slurred, rubbing his cheek into Feetman's shirt. Feetman dutifully switched to rubbing at the other side of Freemind's jaw. "using m' hmmmm glands....n'shit"

Feetman laughed softly. "Guess you didn't spend a summer doing an animal training class at Petco the way I did, huh." He slide his other hand down to cradle both sides of Freemind's head and really got to scritching. Freemind's eye snapped open and his entire body stiffened. "You sneaky fuck," he gasped. He shook himself out of Feetman's easy grasp, nipping at his fingers on his way out. Too much?

Rather than run away or, more likely, try to kick Feetman's ass, Freemind re-situated his angle against the couch so as to clamor over Feetman's lap. His chin was propped up by his folded arms as he lay on his stomach, midsection crushed against Feetman's thighs (he wasn't as big as Feetman, but the guy was still heavy, jeeze), tail twitching against the back of one stocking-clad knee in a manner that usually signaled he was about to bite Feetman for real. Oh. O...kay?

"Pet me," Freeman said petulantly. He was staring straight ahead at the arm of the couch but his ears were half turned back toward Feetman.

Feetman sigh loudly and set his laptop aside. Clearly he was not going to get any more work done until he dealt with the problem in front of him. "...I really shouldn't be encouraging this," Feetman muttered, "it's just positive reinforcement to pull this shit again in the future." Not to mention, the situation was on its way to being really, _truly_ weird. As if having to live with your own evil twin who was currently under some sort of maid catboy curse wasn't weird enough. Well, whatever. He was in it to win it now, and he didn't particularly feel like getting more scratches on his arm.

 _It's not his fault. It's the instinct._ he mentally repeated on a loop as he gave a broad-palmed, heavy pet from the base of Freemind's skull to the tip of his tail. He stayed silent besides for some quiet purring. Feetman did it again. And again. Instinct, instinct, instinct, his mind supplied. Well that was all well and good, but what was _his_ excuse? Both his face and thighs were rapidly heating up as Freemind shifted around minutely. But he was being so good! And quiet! Feetman was a scientist, alright, and that required looking at the facts! And- and evidence! In order to. Um. Freemind stretched his arm out to grab a throw cushion. Feetman watched, entranced, as he sunk his lacy-gloved, heavily scarred hand into it, kneading it between his sharp-pointed fingers.

Feetman didn't realize his own hand had stilled until Freemind half turned back to look at him. His pupil was blown wide, nearly taking up his entire sclera. "Hello?" he asked irritably. "Do I need to start bitching at you again? Cause I'll do it. It beats cleaning your shithole of a room- ah!" Feetman, whose brows were getting progressively furrowed as Freemind continued his tirade, brought his hand back down to scratch at the base of Freemind's tail. Freemind's hips rose on their own accord to arch into it. "Whu- h-hold on- guh-"

Freemind reached back with his other hand and sunk his claws through Feetman's jeans warningly as he let out a cross between a groan and a purr. His back arching higher and his tail sticking straight up was giving him away, though. The new angle made his dress pool down toward his waist and with his legs spread slightly, Feetman received quite the eyeful.

"Going commando?" he tsked. No sooner had the thought of giving Freemind's ass a firm whack left his mind that his hand actually went and did it. Judging from the state of his dick, Feetman has a pretty good idea why there wasn't enough blood to properly fuel his brain.

If this were a porno, Freemind would have moaned loudly and asked for another. Unfortunately, life is rarely that simple. Freemind twisted around and latched onto the offending arm with his claws and pointy eye teeth, Ears pointed back, glaring daggers up at Feetman.

"Ooooo, oo sink oo ehr chuh heeyuh?" Freemind hissed at him through a good chunk of Feetman's arm meat. "gesh uhgain, bu'eeh!" He kicked out at Feetman's other hand to prevent the poor man from freeing himself.

They struggled for a moment as Freemind attempted to shred as much skin as possible and Feetman attempted to pin his down for his own safety.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Feetman said quickly. "That was fucked up, man. I- YOUCH, fuck!- I said sorry! But you really should be wearing...underwear..." he trailed off.

Freemind's skirt was tangling in between his thighs, but every kick gave a peek of his own dick, rock hard and straining against his stomach. A new wave of heat flushed from Feetman's face and shot all the way down his spine. What's the. Wasn't there the uh. Clone discourse? It's just like masturbating? he thought feverishly. His dick definitely agreed with that argument. His free hand slowly inched toward the peaked tent of Freemind's dress. His remaining shreds of rational thought, on the other hand, realized that that was a step too far, and stopped that shit from continuing immediately. His hand was hovering suspiciously close, but it was better than the alternative. Morally, that is. He _was_ the good twin out of the two, after all.

Even if he was practically vibrating in his seat to prove himself wrong.

Freemind must have noticed something about the way Feetman's face changed because he unlatched his teeth to stare up at him suspiciously, licked the dots of blood from off of his lips and teeth.

Feetman froze as Freemind's gaze traveled down Feetman's shoulder, to his arm, to his hand still hovering about Freemind's erection. Freemind gave Feetman the _nastiest_ smirk as he used the arm he had in his grasp to pull Feetman's head closer to his.

" Thinking of making amends?" he purred smugly. His claws sunk deeper into Feetman's arm. He winced. "Isn't that sweet." He rolled his hips up so that the tip of his cock brushed against Feetman's palm and gave a shuddering sigh into his ear. Feetman scrunched his eyes shut and let out a loud, slow exhale. The devil. How could he have forgotten that he was dealing with the _devil_? Freemind licked the shell of his ear with his rough sandpaper tongue and Feetman, accepting that he was definitely going to hell, hesitantly curled his hand around the base of him through the skirt. The cheap synthetic fabric was slick as he twisted his wrist and pumped upward, slowly. Just the way he himself liked it.

Freemind's stomach rolled and he nipped at Feetman's earlobe. "Thaaaaat's right," he rasped.

It was at that exact moment that Freeman walked through the front door.

Freeman stared at them. Freemind froze and stared back. Feetman stared at them all three from above, as his soul had floated away from his body.

Freeman turned around and exited the apartment, considerately shutting the door behind him.

Freemind practically leapt from Feetman's lap, tail puffed up and ears flat against his skull. He stared down at Feetman, opened his mouth, and shut it without a word. Feetman was dimly aware of him slinking back to his room.

Feetman stood up. He was still painfully hard.

He walked to his own room, which unfortunately was past Freemind's. The door was shut, but Feetman could faintly hear the filthiest noises coming from the other side. His fingers tensed at his sides as he stood there for a moment. Listening.

Then his clenched them into fists and resolutely kept moving. Entered his own room. Shut the door. Didn't even make it to the bed before whipping himself out and fucking his own fist. He came so hard he saw stars.

It took a few more tries until he finally softened. He stayed hunched on the floor through all of it, like an animal. Didn't deserve the bed for the things he was thinking of doing.

None of the residents of Casa de Freeman made eye contact the next morning at breakfast. It was the quietest day the house had ever seen.


	2. Freeman/Freemind-Mating cycles, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance to all the academics in the house

MANUSCRIPT – PROPERTY OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES– CLASSIFIED

"Attenuation of higher human cognitive processes by physiological aspects of feline-like sexual aggression" by Dr. Gordon Freeman, PhD

** Abstract **

Tomcats have been observed to have subtle cyclic patterns in level of sexual activity throughout the year [1,2]. Typical courtship behavior of male cats during mating season include loud, harsh vocalization [3], increase in territorial aggression [4], pheromonal urination [5], and persistent attempts to pin, bite and mount potential mates [6,7,8]. In this study, I discuss how these instinctual processes interact with typical observable human behavior in case study subject FM. Data was collected via in-person interview with the subject and written recorded observation by the investigator. It was found that there was a significant effect of feline gonadocorticoids on physiological arousal and sexual behavioral inhibition

** Introduction **

Subject FM, an American male 27 years of age, had contracted SARS (Severe Acute Risque Subtype)-PAC ( _Puer Ancilla Cattus)-_ 19, colloquially known as "Maid Catboy Disease". Symptoms include spontaneous growth of feline-like ears, teeth, claws, and tail, persistent compulsion to wear a maid outfit, and increased demonstration of typical catlike behavior. As of day 89, symptoms have not abated. A recent development in FM's case is in regards to sudden onset of feline mating behavior, which appears to have occurred in tandem with the beginning of spring in New Mexico, USA. Other possible contributing factors include initiation of sexual behavior by confounding variable FT (male, 27 yo), who has since been temporarily removed from the premises. This process is on-going, but I will highlight behaviors of note from the past thirty days .

 **Day 1:** Vocal complaints of the house "smelling like shit" by subject FM. Subject spent much of the day rubbing scent glands on various pieces of furniture, wall corners, bedding, and clothing belonging to the investigator, subject, and confounding variable FT

 **Day 2:** FM displayed abnormal behavior by glaring at various walls in the apartment and muttering under his breath. Subject refused to elaborate when asked, although the phrase "...will NOT piss" was overheard at one point. Subject displayed increase in initiating physical contact with FT for "pets", and frustration when "pets" were not granted. Incidentally, FT did not give pets (while in the presence of the investigator, at least) for reasons not directly related to this paper.

 **Day 4:** Awoken at 2 AM to find fighting between FM and FT. FT upset by copious urination by FM on many objects in his room, including shoes, clothing articles, and wall corners. Explanation by FM was that he wanted to "be closer" to FT, but when pressed went on a tirade about male domination rituals and intolerance of homosexuality. Connection between this and incident above unclear. FT moved from premises.

 **Day 4, evening:** FM agreed to clean up his mess after firm conversation with investigator. Subject displayed several incidences of rubbing his jaw scent glands against investigator as an "apology". Apology undermined when FM aggressively demanded catnip right afterward, however

 **Days 5-7:** Subject appears to be hiding

 **Day 8, 2:25 AM :** Awoke to loud, abrasive vocalizations coming from attic. Subject was source of these noises, which were not unlike tomcat "caterwauling". Unfortunately, vocalizations from subject were more verbally explicit than that from a cat. Although the subject quieted down when he caught sight of the the investigator, phrases such as "wanna fuck so bad," "gonna explode," "isn't enough", as well as frustrated-sounding moaning, could be heard through the walls upon investigator's ascent up the stairs. FM vehemently denied saying such things when asked outright, and attempted to physically strike investigator when pressed. Investigator was very tired, went back to bed

 **Day 8, 9:30 PM:** Subject has been urinating in the attic, just as feared. Behavioral modification through conditioning may be appropriate

 **Day 9:** Further investigation has confirmed my suspicions that FM sudden compulsion to urinate on things stems from an instinctual need to spread around pheromones, not unlike tomcat 'spraying.' FM is also unhappy with development, claiming that urge is too hard to resist. He has agreed to confine himself to one room, where it is easier for him to spread his scent everywhere in a less destructive manner. Subject has since been clawing aggressively at all the furniture in this room, however The room is described as follows: 12 by 11 ft, containing one queen sized 'cat bed' (constructed closer to initial onset of illness), one wardrobe filled with various frilly maid outfits (as purchased by subject), one giant scratching post (largely ignored), various cat toys, three wall katana, seven wall shuriken (embedded), large chest FM claims to definitely not be filled with guns, large bowl labelled 'the nip' (currently empty), 60 inch flat screen TV

 **Day 10:** FM has ceased wearing usual maid outfit, proclaiming that it is too hot and that he would prefer to be in the nude at all times. Subject can be heard loudly masturbating through the door.

 **Day 12:** Investigator has decided to begin structured experimentation.

**Day 13:**

** Experiment 1a **

**Method:** Subject given large body pillow to use as he pleased. Body pillow printed with image of "sexy female scientist with huge knockers and fat ass," as requested. Masturbatory aid material was also made available

 **Results/ Discussion:** surprisingly, FM rejected masturbatory aid material (magazines, video, ect). This may be because he is operating through feline sexual instinct, which is less vision based. Subject initially requested investigator not be present in room*, though consented to being video recorded. Subject requested used article of clothing from FT and investigator. After some discussion regarding boundaries, this request was granted

*see Experiment 1b

 **Supplemental:** Description of recorded session. [FM lays stretched across body pillow, facing toward it. One hand is stuck between himself and the pillow, presumably for self stimulation purposes. The other hand holds a clothing article up against his nose. He is inhaling deeply from it. At timestamp 2:30:48 FM 's moans are picked up by the microphone. He begins to slowly hump against the pillow. At timestamp 5:53:07 FM encircles the pillow with both arms to grip it against himself. His hips move vigorously against it. Tail stiff and pointed straight upward with tight curl at the tip. He is staring directly into the camera and mouthing a name, which was not picked up by the microphone. Behavior culminates in climax and release, accompanied by verbal caterwauling. Video ends.]

Audio transcript, beginning at 7:00:15 ["God, wanna fuck you so bad. Fuck. I'd do it just like this. You want it? Yeah, -augh-you want it. Can feel you watching- (cut off to moan). I bet you're touching yourself to this right now, pervert. Fuck. I know you want me. Know you wanna touch me. I'd let you (face burrowed into pillow at this point, words incomprehensible)]

End transcript.

**Day 15:**

** Experiment 1b  **

**Method:** Initial body pillow replaced with extra large pillow case stuffed with used articles of clothing from investigator. (FT was not available when contacted, so consent could not be obtained). Investigator was permitted in-room for observational purposes.

 **Results/Discussion:** FM displayed caterwauling behavior for almost entire session during this trial (see supplemental for transcript). Subject attempted to maintain eye contact with investigator for entire session. Subject brought himself to climax three times within the session. Climax 1 against the pillow, climax 2 via manual stimulation (hidden), climax 3 through combination of manual stimulation and investigator's clothing article from experiment 1a (displayed) The subject did not attempt to approach the investigator, as requested. Unfortunately, the investigator was unable to completely transcribe what was being said, particularly near the end of the session.

 **Supplemental:** Verbal transcript, incomplete. ["How you likin' it. You like it? Yeahhhh you do. I see where you're placing that clipboard. You like my little -ah- sex tape? How many times you watch it. Tell me. Tell me. (pause, heavy breathing) t-that many. for...exper-EHmental p-purposes, right? (moan) (in rougher voice) yeah I bet you got that data. I bet you did. C-came all over your (whine) hand and wished it was me. Ugh, you should see your face right now. (laughs). Such a pretty boy. Wanna mess you up. See if you can scream- _oh._ Gonna come. Gonnacomegonnacomegonna-(strangled whine). ]

["-know you wont admit it. Oh- ah. I love that l-look on you. So _mad_. Blink twice if you want me to slow down. Was- was that it? Isn’t it a little- ah, cruel, to drag it out? Yeah. Yeahhhh. But you want that. B-bastard."]

["y-y-ou want me to shut up, c-come do it yous-EHlf."]

["-would pounce on you, hold you down, bite the back of your n-neck, and then-"]

["please. _please_. pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease just the tail, just touch the tail, you don't have to-"]

End transcript.


	3. Freeman/Freemind Mating Cycles/In Heat, pt. 2: prostate milking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cow cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd but if there was ever a time to release stress relief material it'd definitely be tonight, y'know?

**Day 16:**

Results of Experiment 1 indicate that subject FM's heat symptoms are not abated by self-directed mechanisms. Furthermore, it is leading to agitated mood for everyone currently living in the household. My code of ethics requires me to ensure that the subject does not undergo extreme duress. Therefore, different methods are required. Want of contact with another human being while in the throes of arousal is within the normal bounds of behavior. However, certain preventative measures would have to be put in place. First, and most importantly, because it would be completely inappropriate to physically engage outside of a strictly procedural manner. Morals and ethics of his relation to me aside, it would be ludicrous to sleep with a subject for any reason.

**Day 18:**

Experiment 2  


Method: After obtaining explicit permission, subject FM's arms were restrained behind his back by a pair of leather handcuffs discovered under the bed in FT's room. This is to ensure the safety of both the investigator and the subject during the experimental trial. As a compromise, his legs remained free for the duration of the experiment. FM was directed to lay on a soft surface, face down and on his knees, with a pillow placed under his head. FM was directed to spread his legs wide enough to reveal his anus. The investigator donned proper protective equipment (nitrile gloves). The investigator administered 30 mL of water-based lubricant to a 15 cm long hollow silicone cylinder container. The subject's penis was carefully placed into the cylinder. Lubricant was also applied to FM's anal opening and the immediate surrounding areas, as well as the investigator's fingers. More was applied, as needed.

With respect to the subject's needs, FM's anus was slowly and carefully breached by the investigator's index finger. Pressure was then applied to the subject's prostate, once found. FM's prostate was continuously rubbed using soft pressure while the silicone cylinder was pumped over his penis at a quarter-note rhythm. This would continue until the subject indicated he was satisfied or wanted to stop.

Results/Discussion: Subject was incredibly receptive to this method, reaching climax a total of five times. Summary of which can be found in the video transcript below. At FM's request during the experiment, methods were modified. Both index and middle finger were used to massage the prostate moderately hard, and the cylinder was pumped at sixteenth-note rhythm.

VIDEO transcript:

Subject is shown in side view to be in the position as described above, in the nude besides for black, nylon thigh highs. [Investigator note: the subject insisted on wearing them, I had nothing to do with this.] His body language is tense. His tail twitches back and forth and his feline ears are points back towards the investigator. The investigator sits on his knees behind him.

FM: "You better not fuck this up. I'm putting a lot of trust in you here! The only reason I'm even allowing it in the first place is because I know no one would know how to do... _this_ to me, besides _me._ So if you _do_ fuck it up, I'll know it was on purpose. Don't think just because you're my clone-"

The investigator makes a shushing noise and rubs absently at FM's lower back. FM makes a startled noise.

FM: "And I hate these cuffs! How are you supposed to properly pet me-"

The investigator makes a louder shushing noise and reaches forward to scratch the back of FM's head. FM's body minutely relaxes, though his tail still whips back and forth. The investigator pours the measured out lube into the silicone cylinder and reaches between FM's legs to sheath his half-erect penis in it. FM jumps. "Cold!"

The investigator visibly winces. He strokes down FM's thighs with his free hand in apology. After an inter-trial interval of 70 seconds 40 milliseconds, the investigator pumps the cylinder in long, slow strokes. FM's body relaxes further and he presses his cheek against his pillow. His head is now turned away from the camera. FM groans softly at semi-random intervals. The investigator keeps to this pattern, stopping once to check on the status of FM's erection. When his pulls the cylinder off FM's penis is now fully erect. The investigator makes a note on his clip board and re-sheathes.

FM: *chuckle*. Are you still using that stupid thing? Who are you trying to- whatever. Just start pumping faster.

The investigator's lips noticeably thin, but he complies with the request, speeding up to a one-eighth beat rhythm. FM groans loudly. His hands flex in their bonds, claws unsheathing and re-sheathing. His tail stiffens, hips swaying in tight circles.

The investigator pours a dollop of lube on his thumb and circles it at the subject's anal entrance. He slowly presses it inward while keeping the pumping consistent. FM makes a strangled noise. The investigator snorts but otherwise continues to press inward. He rotates his wrist to the left after getting past the first knuckle.

FM moves his head to bury it into the pillow. A high keening noise an be heard. His legs separate further on their own accord and tremble. His posterior rises higher, tail with it. He gives a broken cry.

FM: ffff-UCK

He slumps over, panting. The investigator pauses his ministrations, and begins to remove the cylinder.

FM: Don't-!

The investigator stops.

FM: Leave it.

The investigator glances at the camera and raises an eyebrow. He nevertheless leaves it on. He removes his thumb, which earns a whine, but replaces it with a crooked index finger. He is rubbing soft circles inside of the subject. The pumping resumes.

The subject turns his head to face the camera. His eye looks clouded over, mouth slack, with the tip of his tongue hanging out. He moans lowly and continuously to start. He wiggles his hips. The investigator stops.

FM: *whines* What're you doing?

The investigator leans over to whisper something in FM's ear, which is not picked up by the camera. FM shudders from tip to tail. The investigator leans back and resumes. FM stays still. This continues at a steady rate for exactly five minutes.

FM: Ah, ah, ah,ahahaaaa HARDER, DAMN IT.

The investigator complies, pumping at a faster rate and rubbing the prostate with more pressure until second orgasm.

FM: Jeez, FINALLY! What were you waiting for, the- _eeeeeeek_

While the subject had been running his mouth, the investigator had moved over to kneel more to the side of FM. He lets go of the cylinder and leaves it hanging, using that arm to instead press his weight into FM's back. His legs lock around FM's thighs. He begins fingering him at a rapid pace.

FM: Wuh- what- what the ffffff oh, my God. Oh God, I can feel it leaking out- *dramatic wail*

FM gives another full-body shudder and slumps as far as he can. The investigator removes his finger to add more lube, then resumes his position. He inserts two fingers instead of one. He moves his wrist in broad, angular strokes, sole focus in the subjects prostate.

FM: You're _milking_ me! Bastard! I'm not a c-cooooooooooow

The investigator again leans over, this time to take one of FM's feline ears in his teeth. He bites down, hard. FM orgasms.

The investigator reaches under FM to remove the cylinder. He dips two fingers of his non-penetrating hand into it, scoops up a minor amount of ejaculate, then sticks those fingers into FM's mouth. He keeps them there, and resumes fingering. He growls things into FM's ear, too low to be picked up by the camera. It is impossible to know exactly what, but if one were to speculate, it would perhaps have something to do with finally making that brat shut up, and how he isn't fooling anyone into thinking he isn't a slut just begging for it, it's been obvious this whole time that FM wants nothing more than to be absolutely stuffed in all of his drooling holes. Or, maybe not. Hard to say. FM moans around the fingers as the investigator speaks.

In any case, the investigator removes his hand from FM's mouth, wraps it around the base of his tail, and gives it a firm tug. FM orgasms for a final time. There is not much left to come out of his spent cock besides for a pathetic dribble.

FM falls over onto his side, panting, tears dribble down his face.

[END RECORDING]

**Day 19:**

Woke up to a pleasant surprise this morning. Seems FM's mouth is good for something else, after all. He was even considerate enough to use a dam, so as to spare me from his abrasive tongue. Clearly, the last experiment has been my most successful yet.

**Day 20:**

In what is retroactively an unsurprising turn of events, FM decided to argue that the "the only way for this to not be gay is if I can fuck you properly." After basically laughing him out of the office, he returned with some rather fascinating counter arguement. I looked into it further to placate him. It is interesting in theory. _Only_ in theory, most likely.

Side note: Having not heard from FT for some time, I once more attempted to contact him. He is still unavailable, which is beginning to be concerning. A certain BB did answer the phone, but all this person would say about the matter is "feetman's feelin' a bit...rough...right now!" before laughing maniacally and hanging up. BB could not be reached again for further comment.


	4. Freeman/Freemind Mating Cycles/In Heat, finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A culmination of almost a month's worth of tension goes exactly how you'd expect. Plus: an end of chapter surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess a heads up is that I headcanon Freeman as trans so skip if that ain't your cup of tea. I'm always a fan of power struggle so both boning and getting boned will occur on both ends.  
> There will be some mildly transphobic language, initially. Since it is Freemind, and all.

**Day 22:** The results of experiments 1 and 2 have revealed an unexpected level of tolerance toward homosexual behavior. The tendency for tomcats to mount, and even penetrate, one another is a well documented phenomenon [9][10][11][12]. Several explanations for this type of behavior have been proposed: the "mistaken identity" hypothesis [13], the "dominance" hypothesis [14], the "practice and play" hypothesis [15], the "outlet" hypothesis [16] and the "fighting" hypothesis [17.]. The mistaken identity hypothesis posits that males, especially during estrus season when female reproductive pheromones are plentiful, will sometimes mistake other males for sexually receptive females[13]. In the case study at hand, this is highly unlikely. FM has demonstrated both through verbal and non verbal interaction that he understands his subject of interest is also male. Likewise, the fight hypothesis operates within the parameters of males mounting one another in order to chase them away from potential female mates, and so is also irrelevant to the case at hand[17]. The dominance hypothesis asserts that bigger, older males will mount subordinates in order to reduce overall social aggression and keep the hierarchy in check [14]. This behavior has also been recorded in primates [18]. While it is unclear whether FM can still be correctly categorized as primate, he nevertheless retains many primate-like features.

The practice and play hypothesis states that males, usually juveniles, will engage in sexual play with on one another in preparation for future encounters with females [15]. This is another behavior also seen in primates, and while FM is not within the juvenile age range per se, it may be fair to assert that his mental development had arrested at about 17 years or so. It might also be of some note that he is usually unsuccessful in his attempts to "get some tail", by his own admittance. Therefore, it may very well be that his more base feline instincts are directing him to practice on anyone viable and willing within his vicinity.

Lastly, the "outlet" hypothesis states that males will relieve sexual frustration with each other when advances towards females are refused [16]. This hypothesis may also be relevant. It has been well documented in sexually promiscuous social animals such as the _felis catus_ [19]. The following experiments will assess which, if any, of the three remaining, viable hypotheses offer the best explanation for FM's behavior. If there is only enthusiasm toward coupling when FM is in the dominant position, then the other two hypotheses may be discounted. If enthusiastic homosexual behavior is only observed when arousal has already been induced, it is likely to have occurred in order to relieve frustration.

**Day 23:**

Experiment 3a

**Method:** By far the easiest hypothesis to test is whether this observed behavior is due to need of a sexual outlet. FM's advances toward the investigator were recorded both when the the subject was already in an advanced aroused state by means of exposure to female pheromones (one used exercise top, procured by a neighbor FM has previously demonstrated attraction towards) and when he was in his baseline arousal state

 **Addendum:** there was initially some argument between subject and investigator as to what constituted as "male." Considering the nature of this work, the investigator finds it appropriate to disclose at this time that he was born female, that is, assigned female at birth. He does not, however, have many female phenotypical traits at this point. FM ultimately concluded that (in his own words) visual, auditory, and olfactory cues indicate that the investigator "is a man," and that "you do have a dick, I guess?". After a very drawn out, and ultimately (in this author's opinion) pointless discussion about sex, gender, and sexuality, it was decided that the investigator indeed "demonstratively qualifies" as male. The investigator is truly honored that FM deems this to be objectively so. Also, FT is still not answering calls and is thus unavailable as an alternative male participant for this study at this time

 **Results/Discussion:** Inconclusive. FM showed significant preference for used clothing from the investigator and FT over that of the above-mentioned neighbor. It is thus unclear whether subsequent headbutting, rubbing, nipping ect. are attempts to relieve tension evoked by female hormones. Interestingly, FM showed more advanced stages of aroused behavior when handling the investigator's clothing specifically. This includes climbing into the investigator's lap, grooming (licking) and unsubtle attempts to grind against the investigator's leg. Again, it is unfortunate that FT is not on the premises so that he could be used as a better control.

 **Day 24, 5 AM:** I awoke to an unending cacophony of noise and complaint by FM. He would not stop asking for "treats", but refused to elaborate. Petting him [ie, stroking his back, scratching his ears, ect] did mollify him somewhat. The previous good behavior he had demonstrated did not last long, clearly. When the subject refused to let the investigator go back to sleep, he was locked outside of the bedroom door. He remained on the other side, wailing for some time. Luckily, I have managed to sleep under much more distressing circumstances. It is counterproductive to reward any more bad behavior.

 **Day 25:** Escalation. Drastic action must be taken.

**Day 26:**

Experiment 3b

**Method:** If FM is exhibiting sexually aggressive behavior due to an instinctual need to exert dominance, then he should not be receptive to coupling while submissive. While FM has previously demonstrated some objectively submissive sexual behavior (see Exp. 2) it has yet to be seen whether he would be willing to be the receptive partner during a phallus-inclusive penetrative act. Following the events of Day 25, [details of which need not be mentioned], FM acquiesced, provided that the control and experiment procedures were "Fair." That is, he could enact upon the investigator in equal measure [investigator note: the results of which became a test for the "play" hypothesis, see Exp 3c].

Subject FM was instructed to rest on his hands and knees. Subject insisted on both parties being as clothed as possible. Therefore, subject was dressed in standard catboy maid attire [one black and white uniform dress with frills and puffed sleeves, one giant collar bow, one tail bow, thigh high stockings, garters. The investigator cannot emphasize enough that this is all the subject's doing]. The investigator thus found it appropriate to leave the labcoat on, and buttoned up, in order to protect his work clothing. The investigator donned an adjustable harness, wherein a silicone phallus was inserted (15.24 cm length, 3.81 cm diameter). The investigator donned protective equipment and used water-based lube, as described in Exp 2. Just as in Exp 2, FM's anal opening was slowly and carefully breeched by the investigator's index finger. Light pressure was applied to and around the subject;s prostate area. Once FM indicated that is was ok to proceed, a middle finger was also added. More lube was applied, as needed. The investigator's index and middle finger were used to carefully stretch the anal opening. Unlike Experiment 2, a silicone tube was not used on the subject's penis. Instead, a small bullet vibrator on at its lowest setting was secured to the base of the penis by means of the ribbon initially used for FM's tail bow. Once appropriately stretched, a 3.23 cm anal plug was inserted. The subject was instructed to stay in position until first orgasm. [investigator's note: this was a safety precaution to test whether FM would act appropriately during the penetrative act itself, like a good boy.][Journal editor’s note: can we please remove all of these investigator’s notes? They are all highly unprofessional, but that one is really crossing a line.]. After first orgasm, the plug and vibrator were removed. The silicone phallus was slowly and carefully inserted into the subject's anal opening. Penetrative act commenced to completion. Post- coitus clean up and care administered as required. See transcript below for more detail.

Video transcript, beginning at timestamp 23:45:01: The subject is on his hands and knees, with investigator sitting behind him. His dress is hiked up to reveal his posterior. The investigator is finishing plug insertion into the subject's anal cavity. He holds the tail at its base with his other hand, in order to prevent getting hit in the face with it.

FM: [whines]

The investigator tilts his head and adjusts the angle of the plug.

FM: ffffff- . Yeah. Right there. Yeah [said in rough voice]

The investigator pulls the dress back down. He shuffles on his knees until he is sitting beside FM, behind him from the view of the camera. He gives FM a strong pet down his back, from base of neck to base of tail.

By timestamp 30:27:52 the subject is very obviously sweating and flushed. His limbs tremble.

FM: Shit! I can't fuckin- turn the vibrator up or something, damn it!

The investigator tsks and reaches back to slip a hand under the dress. He has grasped the base of the plug. He rotates his wrist 360 degrees once, clockwise. FM drops down to his elbows and buries his face into his arms. Muffled screaming can be heard. The investigator pumps the plug out at a leisurely pace until 35:57:00. Muffled whimpers can be heard.

FM: Fuck! I hate you!

The investigator's hand leaves the plug. He reaches forward to switch the vibrator to "medium"

The subject lifts his head up enough to free his mouth and keens. His thighs tremble and his toes curl. The investigator moves until he is sitting cross legged in front of FM's head. He removes one lube-slick glove and replaces it with a fresh one. He grasps FM by the hair to lift his face up. He looks into the subject's face. Studying it. Since the camera is angled to face FM from the side, not as much can be seen. FM's face is flushed, lips parted.

FM: Puh- please. Can I.

Investigator: Hm?

The subject reaches out to grasp at the investigator's waist. He uses the grip to drag his head into the investigators lap. The investigator lets go of his hair. FM wraps his arms around the investigator's middle and headbutts against his belly. The investigator does not stop him. The investigator pets at FM's hair and cheek as the subject has a strong, fully body tremor and moans. Subject has reached first completion.

The subject's posture goes limp. His grip does not loosen. With some struggle, the investigator managed to reach over and switch the vibrator off. The subject rubs his cheek against the investigator's stomach and inhales loudly.

FM: What is that? I can smell something...

He continues to butt and rub his head against the investigator's middle. He angles his head until his face is stuck under the labcoat, which has only been buttoned down to the waist. The subject's arm muscles flex, claws starting to dig into the fabric.

FM: [hoarsely]...Oh, you must be so wet for me. _Because_ of me. I can tell it's coming from between your legs, oh [growls]...lemme...let me taste it, I'll lick you out like pudding cup this time, force you to get loud for once, Mr. Quiet Tough Guy-

The investigator grips FM by the back of the head and forcefully yanks the subject's face out of his lap . After breaking FM's grip around his middle, he rifles around in the supply box behind him and pulls out a sparkly pink collar and short bit of chain. FM's ears go back, and his tail puffs up. He starts to slowly inching backward, still on his hands and knees

FM: Oh no no no, not the- I'm sorry! Okay? Jesus! Don't-

The investigator clips the collar on and secures the other side of the chain to the floor. Simple operant conditioning: negative punishment for doing the wrong action[17]. FM's head is now forced to stay near the ground, though there is just enough space for him to slip his forearms in for comfort, if he wishes. His posterior is angled further upward as a result. It is a position most suitable for penetration [18]

The investigator applies a thick layer of lube to the phallus apparatus. He grasps the base of the plug and slowly pulls it out as the subject continues to make dramatic sob noises. Once the plug is removed, it is placed in its own tray and put aside. The investigator inspects the anal rim for microtears and, finding everything satisfactory places the apparatus right at the anal entrance, rubs absently at FM's lower back until he decides to quit it already and relax. The subject's tail starts to whip back and forth.

FM: What are you waiting for? Are you mocking me? Just do it- fucking do it already!

The investigator shallowly thrusts into the subject. Finding little resistance, he slowly sinks in deeper. FM wails and bangs his fist against the floor. The investigator grabs onto FM's hips and begins to move.

FM: Ah! ah! aurgph! I'm gonna hunt down and kill your whole fam-AH-mU-leee. Shit! Oh my- g-Oh-AWD. Why do you keep missing the spot? [lets out a single sob] you're sss-UCH a-

The investigator quickens his pace. He rubs his fingers into FM's back, just above the tail. FM's hips rise even higher on their own accord. FM starts to breathlessly gasp

FM: You- little-....cheat! Tha-haaaaaaa. t. All you-. Got?

The investigator sighs. He reaches down to pick up the lube bottle and dribbles on more. He renews his tight grip on FM's hips and starts to really pound into him. The squelching sounds can be picked up by the camera, though they are soon drowned out by FM's wordless moaning. The investigator quickens his pace. He drapes his body over the subject's without losing rhythm, and unclips the collar from the chain. The investigator then grips FM's chin and raises himself up, taking FM with him. FM opens his mouth and lolls his tongue out, panting. The investigator shoves two fingers into the subject's mouth and the subject seals his lips around them and sucks at them

The investigator removes the fingers and continues his rough pace. He reaches around and grabs at FM's penis through the fabric of his dress. His hand is stationary, wrapped around the base. The investigator growls something into the subject's feline ear

FM: [sob] I said I was sorry! I'm sohhahary!

Investigator: [undecipherable]

FM: Yes! You are! Ugh! _Please!_ [journal editor's note: words in italics indicate a higher voice pitch]

Investigator: [undecipherable, deeper]

FM: I-I'm your- [he gasps as the investigator begins to pump his hand] p-pretty _little kitty ca-t_

The subject shouts and orgasms. The investigator presses his hips flush up against him and rolls them in a slow, deep humping motion during FM's extended climax.

END TRANSCRIPT

Afterward, the subject was properly cleaned and manually handled. Compliments were administered until the subject's ego regained its usual overly large and bulbous form

 **Results:** Data indicates that the subject is not engaging in homosexual behavior in order to physically dominate other males in his vicinity. His true motivations have yet to be seen

**Day 30:**

Experiment 3c

**Method:** As FM does not seem to be initiating contact due to existing arousal to a female, and does not appear to have to be the dominant partner, it may be that he is simply using it as a sort of practice and casual play. After some discussion on the matter, FM was kind enough to provide his own scientific-grade materials: dental dams (latex, high grade) and a sort of custom condom he'd invented that is thick enough to dull the barbs while still retaining the overall bumpy texture. Both subject and investigator were nude over the course of this experiment. A heating appliance in the room ensured that both parties remained comfortable.

[DATA EXPUNGED]

[Journal editor's note: Unfortunately, a high-level administrator requested that the procedural details and results of this study become classified. However, I have managed to obtain the video recording of the incident, which I have taken the liberty of transcribing:]

The camera angle is, as usual, facing subject and investigator from the side. The investigator is lying on his back on a soft surface, propped up on his elbows. The subject is standing proudly a little off to the side, ears perked up, tail swishing lazily behind him. He is singing a wordless, nasally tune ('doobahdoobehderh'(?)) as he applies a dental dam to his tongue.

FM: are you weady foh me tuh wock your world?

The investigator briefly looks at the camera. He turns back to the subject and signs 'please shut up and get on with it.' FM takes out his dam.

FM: Aw, going back to non-verbal? That's okay. You won't be shy for long.

The subject swaggers on over to the investigator's legs and starts to try and kick them open. The investigator begins to spread them himself, stops, and then motions for FM to bring his face closer

FM: Oh, what. Need to whisper something?

The subject drops to his knees between the investigator's thighs and crawls forward. The investigator reaches up and flicks the subject in the middle of his forehead. The subject slaps a hand to his forehead. His ears go back and his tail moves violently.

FM: What the FU- okay. That's it. You asked for this, mister! Go straight to bed, I'm eating your supper!

The subject puts the dam back in and crawls backwards until his face is in between the investigator's thighs. The investigator does a head motion one would usually associate with major eye rolling The subject begins to lick in broad stripes from the bottom up. He occasionally wraps his lips around the investigator's penis to give it a brief suck. The investigator sighs and lays down onto his back . He opens his legs wider. The subject hums at that and says something undecipherable, but smug sounding. He hooks his hands under the back of the investigator's thighs and pushes them up and back, bent toward the investigator's torso

The investigator's genitals are now angled further upward. The subject presses his open mouth against it. It is hard to see from the camera angle, but based on direction of tongue movement FM is most likely licking at the investigator's vaginal entrance. The investigator wiggles his hips. He reaches down to grasps at FM's hair in an attempt to direct him. The subject makes a muffled noise of complaint but moves up towards the investigator's penis. He licks at and moves his lips around it. The grip on his hair lessens. The investigator relaxes again and scratches at the base of the subjects ears. The subject purrs and undulates his hips against the bedding.

The subject holds up the index and middle finger of his right hand for the investigator to see. Likely to show that the claws on those fingers have been clipped. The investigator nods. The subject grabs at the investigator's hand and guides it to wrap around his own thigh. With the hold on the position sufficient, the subject reaches down and inserts his index finger to the second knuckle while continuing to lick at the investigator's penis. His hand moves minutely as he twists his wrist back and forth. He continues until the investigator reflexively kicks one of his legs straight up.

FM: Uh haaa!

The subject ceases to move his wrist around and instead appearing to focus on that one spot. The investigator begins to make relatively high pitched, closed-lipped noises

The subject removes the finger, starts to pop it in his mouth, but then seems to remember the dam. He makes a disgruntled noise and runs both fingers against the investigator's outer genitals, before plunging them both in. His lips once against engulf the investigator's penis. The subject makes a stroking motion with his busy hand. He starts to openly roll his hips against the soft surface. The investigator slaps a hand over his mouth

Investigator: mmnph!

The subject releases the penis from his mouth with a pop and smiles very widely [and in this editor's opinion, scarily]. He removes his fingers. The investigator groans.

FM spits out the dam, crawls up to bite at the investigator's neck while stroking his outer genitals with the flat of his hand. His erect penis bobs between his legs. He lets go of the investigator's thigh to try and pry the investigator's hand away from his mouth

FM: Oh, really? You think I'm gonna allow that after all the shit that you pulled?

He ducks down to suck as a spot on the investigator's neck at the same moment he succeeds at pulling the hand away

Investigator: OH!

FM: Yeah, I thought that bit might be the same. Even if [lowers voice and speaks against the investigator's ear] you're way sloppier between the legs. And _I'm_ the slut?

He plunges his fingers back into the investigator's entrance

FM: Why don't you just admit you've been wanting a piece of The Freeman this whole time? How your cunt and your little prick must've been aching for it as soon as you saw how hard I could rail that pillow? C'mon. Admit it.

The subject begins to pump his fingers in and out, angled toward the investigator's front walls

Investigator: Nnnrrmph! [close lipped]

FM: Admit iiiitttttt!

His arm movement gets faster. His other hand shoots out to pin the investigator's hand to the bed. He bites the tip of the investigator's ear. The investigator gasps and lets out a long, drawn out moan

FM: Yes, that's good! Let it all out

He removes his fingers from the investigator's entrance and strokes them against his penis. He licks a broad stripe against the investigator's jaw, panting. The investigator is also panting, grinding back against the fingers.

FM: So now I'm gonna give you what you _really_ want, and force you to beg-

Investigator: SHUT-

He releases his thigh and uses that hand to grab the back of FM's head, smashing their lips together. To describe the subsequent actions as "making out" might not be the most accurate, as the majority of it is actually biting.

The subject lowers his hips to rub against the investigator's outer genital area. He turns his head away from the investigator's mouth. His face is extremely flushed and saliva-laden

FM: No, you WILL do what you're- HEY!

The investigator leveraged his hip up enough to flip them over. He is now on top. He places his hands flat against FM's chest and leans his body weight onto them and he sinks down onto his penis with a sigh.

FM: Oh! Wow. You must be _so_ proud of yourself.

The investigator nods enthusiastically, grinning. He begins to grind down against the subject's pelvis as he bottoms out

FM: Uh huh. [dryly]

He grips the investigator's arms and pushes them both outwards, in opposite directions, as his feet find leverage. He jostles the investigator, sits up quickly, and pushes him backwards. Their positions are once again reversed. FM is fully lying on top, pinning the investigator's arms up near the sides of his head. The subject laughs maliciously, and without further ado begins to hump into the investigator. He pushes his face against the investigator's neck. Loud sucking noises are apparent. The investigator is biting his lower lip hard, completely red faced, though it appears that he is still whining through his nose

The subject stops to adjust the position of his hips before resuming his quick and brutal pace. He sinks his teeth into the juncture of the investigator's neck and shoulder. The investigator gasps. His legs seize up.

Investigator: ah ah _ah ah ah_ [Journal editor’s note: each subsequent noise gets quieter and breathier]

FM growls deep in his chest.

There is the sound of a door opening off camera.

Unknown: What the...FUCK?

The subject and investigator freeze and look up. There is the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. A third man who also looks remarkably like the first two rushes in frame. This one, however, appears to have dog ears and a dog tail. Could this be FT?

FT(?): Oh! Ooooooooh, I see how it is! This is funny! No, really. Hilarious. Are you fucking KIDDING me? You give me shit for **petting** him, but when I come back he's balls deep inside of you? That's uh [he smacks his lips] **pretty damn interesting. ISN'T IT**

FM: WILL YOU GET THE FUCK OUT SO I CAN FINISH?

FT(?): NO! GET OFF HIM! YOU DON'T GET TO CUM! You do NOT get to cum! **ESPECIALLY** AFTER YOU DID **THIS** TO ME.

FT(?) gestures to his dog ears and tail

FM and FT, shout over each other

I DIDN'T FUCKING-

YOU INFECTED ME-

FM gets up off of the investigator, penis very red and angry looking, and begins to square up

FM: I'LL KILL YOU! Mangy, flea bitten, COCK BLOCKING-

The investigator stares out into space for a moment, sighs and then rolls over toward the camera. He reaches out toward it. The screen goes dark.

END TRANSCRIPT

** Discussion **

SARS (Severe Acute Risque Subtype)-PAC ( _Puer Ancilla Cattus)-_ 19, or "Maid Catboy Disease", is an incredibly rare illness. As such, we may never know its root cause, and lack of sample sizes makes the likelihood of developing a cure minute. Is it a disease mutated from overcrowded livestock? The vile, yet shallow manipulations of a shadowy government agent who clearly has too much time on his hands, perhaps? There is much we do not know. Patient FM's sudden onset of feline mating instincts has its benefits, and its drawbacks. The intermingling of animal instinct with human sexuality is a fascinating one. From what we gather from this singular case study, the most evident effect appears to be submissive tendency and sharp cognitive decline. Unfortunately, the results could not reveal the ultimate reason as to why the subject has developed a sudden, disturbing attraction to the genetic equivalent of his identical twins. Further investigation into the matter may be warranted. Of course, the most important component of this study is the novel discovery of a mutated strain of the virus in subject FT. I have taken the liberty of naming this disease myself: RABV (Raucous Aggressive Behavior Version)-MCP ( _Magna Canis_ _Puer_ )-20.

[Note from the investigator's superior: If the editor finds it more appropriate to forward this manuscript to _Nature_ due to the magnitude of this discovery, they have my full permission. And I'm actually the one that discovered it, by the way. Not him.]

[Journal editor’s note: Matthew, if you’ve made it this far, can you please drop by my office? I need to have an emergency salary renegotiation meeting with the board.]


	5. Barney House, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having most of his shit pissed all over, Feetman crashes with Benrey at the House of Barneys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not obvious:  
> Barney--> Freeman  
> Benrey--> Feetman  
> Barmey--> Freemind
> 
> "Do I need to watch Barney's Mind, OP?" No, you really don't. I've done the terrible work for you. Maybe watch a clip if you're curious about the voice but again, not necessary. Barmey is just as horrible as Freemind, just in a different way, and that's all you need to know. I tried to keep him as true to the character as I could stand.

"Barmey, can ya get the door?" Barney called from the kitchen.

Barmey froze. Man, he hated that name. Why couldn't _he_ be the Barney? He guessed it beat 'Benrey', but, agh- that was his actual name, wasn't it? This was so suck. Barmey way going to keep staring at the TV and pretend he hadn't heard.

"BARMEY! I'm doing the damn dishes, just move your ass!"

Damn it. "yeah, whatever douchebag," Barmey mumbled under his breath as he got up from the couch. That guy was so uptight. He still didn't get how they could be related, or clones of each other, or whatever. "one of these days, i'm really going to tell you what's- oh, hey! gordon?"

The guy on the other side looked up from his phone. "Oh, um," he replied. It was hard to tell with the porch lighting, but on second thought he didn't _totally_ look like Gordon. Much more...frazzled. Didn't have that awesomesauce aura. Didn't sound like much like him, either. "Hey. I'm looking for...Benrey, actually."

So this was Benrey's Gordon. "uh...huh," said Barmey, stroking at his non-existent beard. Benrey was pretty cool, he guessed. Dumb as a rock, but fun to hang with. Maybe this Gordon would be fun, too. "do you play World of Warcraft?" he asked.

Benrey's Gordon got a super pissy look on his face. "No? Listen. Buddy. Barney, right?"

Barmey groaned. "it's barmey, actually. _for some dumb reason._ -"

"What in the world is taking you so long?" Barney demanded, coming up behind him to peek through the door. "Oh. Hey! You must be....Feetman?"

"Oh, thank God. Listen, I'm-" The full implication of it all hit Barmey like a truck and he couldn't help cackling and pointing at him. "holy shit, 'feetman'? like, you got a fetish? you're into toes?"

Barney yanked him back by the scruff of his shirt and pushed him toward the stairs. "Go make yourself useful and get Benrey, ya little miscreant." "ahaha, man. feetman..." Barmey snickered as he hiked up the stairs

Benrey was holed up in his room, as always. Playing some sort of horror game and mumbling into his headset. Living the dream. Barmey wished that _he_ was a powerful entity that didn't need to work a job or pay the bills. That would be so cool. If Barmey was a supernatural being he would totally fly around on big batlike wings and breathe fire on everyone...so metal. Everyone he chased would be all 'Ahhh! Oh no!'. Heheh.

He didn't turn around when Barmey kicked the door in the rest of the way with a shout of hah-yah! Barmey should try and sneak up and scare him, or something. Bad enough he was being treated like an errand boy in his own house. He tried to karate chop Benrey through the shoulder but his hand ended up passing right through. The misapplied force of it all caused Barmey to stumble onto the floor.

Benrey paused his game and looked down at him. "wuh?"

Barmey rolled over to look up at him, crushing his head into an empty energy drink can in the process. "your boy feetman's here."

"oh yooooooo. feetman?"

"what's with that name, anyway?" Barmey asked as he trailed after Benrey back down the stairs. "how horny on main is he for feet in order for that to be his like, defining characteristic?"

Benrey turned around and grinned super wide, showing off his cool shark teeth. "you have no idea."

"yeah?" What a freak. Nothing like _Barmey's_ Gordon. His Gordon was too awesome to be into feet. Unless, maybe he _was_ into feet? Was having a foot fetish cool? Barmey might have to look into that.

"oh, yeah." They reached the foyer where Feetman and Barney were standing. "SUP, FEETMAN?"

"Benrey, I texted you _two hours ago_ about staying here. Why didn't you inform your housemates?" Feetman demanded. Staying here? Oh, worm. Yeah, he was carrying a big dufflebag and everything.

"huh? uh. didn't get it. phone out of juice."

"You texted me back that it was fine, you liar!" He turned back to Barney. "He is _such_ a liar about everything,” he said pleadingly.

"I am aware," Barney said dryly.

"man, why do you always gotta be mean to me like this?" Benrey drawled, stuffing his hands into his track pants.

Barmey picked up on the bit immediately and shot Feetman a cheeky grin. "yeah, man. why're you ragging on my boy here?"

He and Benrey clasped hands and chest bumped briefly. "did the other gordons kick you out for being a dick?"

"here i am being all uhhh....me casa es su casa and all." Benrey shook his head solemnly.

"me gusta." Barmey contributed. Close enough. Still witty.

Feetman dropped his dufflebag to the floor and put his face into his hands. "Why," he said hoarsely. "How. There are...." he lifted his head up to show a sorrowful face that Gordon would have definitely ragged on him for. He pointed a trembling finger out between Benrey and Barmey. "There are _two of them_?! Oh, my God. I can't...I think I need to leave."

Barney patted him on the back. "Now don't go being all doom and gloom on us, Feetman. It's 4 in the morning, for pete's sake! At least stay long enough to get some shut eye. You can use the couch."

"um, i was in the middle of using the couch to watch my anime, actually?" Barmey pointed out.

Barney shot him a glare. "You can watch them somewhere else. Use Benrey's TV."

Benrey had walked away by that point and was halfway to the kitchen. "'m using that screen for games." he called over his shoulder.

Feetman made a sort of high pitch groany noise. His lip trembled a little. That was a little.....um. Now that Barmey took a minute to get a closer look, his eyes were bloodshot and he had some serious dark circles. Guess the guy must be pretty tired. It'd explain why he didn't get all his funny jokes. And frankly, a grown man crying right near the living room wasn't something he wanted to deal with, anyway. He'd have to turn the TV volume way up, and then Barney would start bitching at him again like he usually did whenever Barmey did literally anything. Ugh, ok! Fine, whatever! "...you can use the couch," Barmey said reluctantly. "it's chill. our base is belong to you."

" _Thank you_ , Barmey," Barney sighed, giving Feetman's back a final pat. Whatever, douchebag. "There, y'see? Go on and git your rear over there to get all settled, Feetman. The three of us are night owls, as you've probably gathered, but I'm sure we can...."

He paused at the sound of a crash and a bunch of liquid glugging coming from the direction of the living room. "oops." Barmey heard Benrey say in his usual deadpan.

They all rushed into the living room to find an entire gallon of milk upended onto the couch cushions. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Barney demanded.

Benrey shrugged. "it dropped." he said simply.

"he can't use my bed," Barmey said quickly. "that wouldn't be fair. you can't make me."

"Oh my God, it this going to soak through the coverings?" Barney roughly pushed past Benrey to get to the couch and began to hastily tug at the casings. "What happens when it spoils? I'm sorry, Feetman, I gotta deal with this. You'll- you'll have to sort this out yourselves. Oh, Lord...."

Barmey was already speedwalking out of the room and up the stairs. If he stayed any longer Barney might try to wrangle him into doing more work. "bye! good luck! 'night!" he called. Heheh. Smooth gettaway.

The next morning- or, evening he guessed, since no one woke up until way past noon, Feetman sat with them on the breakfast table, pale faced and red eyed, and proceeded to sniffle up snot the whole time.

"dude, gross. you look like shit." Barmey pointed out.

"baby got a widdle cold, maybe?" Benrey said, before unhinging his jaw and sliding a whole stack of pancakes into his gullet. So sick. "smart guy got ill from bigbrain idea of sleeping on the floor?" he continued with a mouth full of half chewed food.

Feetman groaned and layed his cheek on the table. "Please shut up..." he said weakly.

"Y'do look a little green around the gills, Feetman," Barney said as he slid some scrambled eggs and cheese onto his and Barmey's plates

"i think you should go home before you get any of us sick," Barmey stated. Benrey kicked him under the table. "ow! what's your problem?"

"...I can't go back," Feetman muttered, shakily raising himself back up and sniffling again. "There was uh. Freemind's...." he gestured vaguely. Who the hell is Freemind? Feetman laughed awkwardly and nasally. "I mean. Barmey. You know what Freemind's like, right?"

Uh...huh. His Gordon was Freemind. Guess it made sense, since he had a mind and all...but wait, didn't everyone have a mind? He's confused again. Whatever.

"well of course i do, he's my best friend!" Barmey bragged. "i got some stories. and i'm sure he's told you all about me, too. he probably exaggerated a bunch to make himself look good, though. haha. that would be so like him."

Barney took a giant gulp of coffee and winced. Feetman looked suddenly uncomfortable. Benrey turned to Barmey and smiled at him serenely. "tell him the story about the company picnic, dude."

Barmey felt himself grin wide and his face heat up just from the memory of it all. "oh, the picnic! yeah, that was pretty wild. so like, there were a bunch of competitive racing games and all that, where scientists were supposed to pair up with guards? so i asked gor- or, freemind, i guess. i asked freemind to pair up with me, and he said he didn't need a partner because it'd just tie him to a loser that would slow him down! he’s so funny. awesome."

" _so_ funny," Benrey murmured into his glass of orange juice.

"will you pipe down?" Barmey poked at Benrey's arm playfully with the back of his fork and then swallowed bits of eggs with its front. "so then i thought," Barmey went on, still chewing, "ok, maybe i shouldn't have a partner either. 'cause he's right, you know? most of the scientists are old or way out of shape. total epic fail. they'd probably just whine at me a bunch. bluh bluh bluh. anyway. we're doing the obstacle course, and it's me and freemind up front. he's showing off, being flashy with his moves, all that jazz. really winding up the judges by shouting how much they suck." Barmey began to talk faster, voice getting more animated. It sometimes did that when he talked about his and Freemind's adventures.

"I'm just going through it all practical right behind him. Then he does this flip move on a bar right near the end, thinking he's being all cool, and I see my opening! I was like, 'LEEEEEEEROOOOYYYY JENKIIIIINS'" he waved his arms around as he shout it, miming a running sprint. Feetman winced. Benrey nodded along encouragingly. "Ahaha. You know? Zipped right past him, and got first place! He was PISSED, dude. Such a sore loser. He's like that sometimes, though. Then he- "

"I reckon that's enough excitement for the breakfast table," Barney cut in, clapping a heavy hand on Barmey's still outstretched arm. "Our guest is still sick, remember."

"…whatever, man," Barmey said dismissively, knocking his hand away. See, he knew this would happen. Feetman didn't even live here, he'd been sick for like, five minutes, and he was already getting preferential treatment! So unfair. "just get a hotel room or something."

"naw bro. he needs some uuhhhh....hello, nurse treatment. nurse benny, on the job."

"I honestly don't care as long as it's not more work for me at this point." Barney said wearily.

"haha. same." Barmey agreed. "lock him away in your room so he doesn't affect the rest of us. if this is some zombie disease you're gonna be the first one to go, benrey. miss me with that shit."

"Woah! Hold on," Feetman said, alarmed, trying to rise from his seat. "I don't- that's not-" he swayed over to the side. Benrey caught him and slung Feetman's arm around his shoulder.

"sick boy gotta go to bed."

Barmey's eyes darted between the two of them. That's it? Why wasn't Benrey giving him more shit about this? Looks like Barmey would have to pick up the slack, here. Boys rules and all that. Le sigh.

Barmey snorted. "wait, _your_ bed? gay."

"what? no." Benrey said quickly.

"have fun sucking his dick." Barmey jeered.

"He's not going to be sucking my dick! HE is not-" Feetman said hysterically.

Barmey grinned. Trap sprung. "uh...huh. i see. because you'll be sucking _his_ dick, you mean."

The ensuing ruckus reached too high a point after that. Barney kicked them all out of the kitchen with the parting threat to bust the head of whoever made the next dick sucking joke over the next 48 hours. Barmey and Benrey took out their phones and set alarms on their respective clocks.

Barmey retreated to his room to play more WoW after that. Their house didn't have any set lunch or dinner times, so the plan was to basically keep out of Benrey and Feetman's way and sneak down to the kitchen to microwave some hot pockets when no one was around. He didn't expect Benrey to ask for help or anything, but Barney was always a wildcard. Barmey would never understand why that guy wanted to try and make him do all the work, when he _clearly_ liked to do it all himself! It was bullshit. Barmey was more of a 'look busy' kind of guy. Haha. Gordon...Freemind used to make fun of guards who just tried to look busy instead of doing any work. He got a special type of raspy quality to his voice whenever he really laid into someone with his special brand of humor. So...intense...

Barmey bit his lip. This campaign was becoming a major drag. Way boring. He switched tabs to incognito mode and started to slide a hand under the waistband of his pants.

\--

He crept in at around 2:30 AM and switched on the lights to find a blanket cloaked figure reaching up into a cabinet. The figure bumped its head and swore under its breath. Woah, what the fuck? Barmey grabbed the nearest carving knife and held it out in front of him. "freeze."

The figure slowly turned around, arms semi-raised. Barmey lowered the knife. "oh, it's just you, feetman."

"Uh," said Feetman, turning his face away again. "Yeah. Sorry"

"why're you rooting around in the dark for?"

"Oh! It's...it's dark, is it? I just didn't want to disturb- I mean, I'm used to living with diurnal people, so usually if I went into the kitchen this late I'd keep it off to not disturb anyone, you know? Which- I guess is sort of funny, since the kitchen isn't near anyone's bedroom, so it's not like it would really matter. Plus usually at least one of us is on an insomniac streak, so-"

Blah blah blah. Boring. He could've just stopped after the first sentence, Barmey doesn't really care.

"cool." he interrupted as he brushed past Feetman on his way to the fridge. "are you going to wash that blanket? you've been dragging it on the floor. i mean," he stuck his head into the freezer and started to root around. "i guess the blanket is already gross if you're sick and have been sweating on it. bleuch. aw, god damn it. where are they? if benrey ate all the hot pockets again, i swear. the guy's pretty cool, but sometimes…no, forget that! it’s complete bullshit! i'm pretty sure he doesn't even _need_ to eat- YO!"

Barmey nearly jumped out of his skin as something cold touched the back of his neck. He turned around to find Feetman standing right over him. Most of his face was in shadow, still cloaked by the blanket.

"personal bubble, dickhead! go away." Barmey made a shooing motion at him.

Feetman licked his lips. "Sorry, man! It's just- you- I just realized you kind of smell like him,"

Woah, hold up. What? Barmey's eyes darted around. This was so fucking creepy. Maybe Feetman _was_ gay. But wait, wouldn't that make- nah. Nah, he couldn't be, then. Delirious from illness. That must be it. "…and, and I was just wondering as a scientist, you know? Because, ok, you're all from alternate universes, so you and Barney I can accept are the same, but Benrey's not even _human_. So then why-"

"are you drooling?" Barmey demanded.

"What?" Feetman touched a hand to his now super wet lips.

"aw, shit. you are. get it together, failson! fucking gross." Ugh, this was horrible. Feetman wandering into the kitchen, where he _eats_ , slobbering his sick drool everywhere. And where was Benrey? What happened to playing gay little nurse? Aughhhh! So annoying!

"and what's that noise?" the sound of something rhythmically thumping against the side cabinet had been going on since Feetman had really gotten into saying his little speech. Barmey tried to look around Feetman to investigate. Feetman whipped around to keep them facing each other.

Barmey narrowed his eyes. Uh...huh.

"I think I- I think I'm just going to go back to bed," Feetman said hoarsely.

"great idea. i'll walk you back." He usually clowned on Benrey and Barney whenever either of them started on "suspicious" stuff, but _come on_. He didn't want to wake up the next evening to find the flat screen stolen. This was such sucks. He'd really been looking forward to those hot pocks after all the...exercise he'd just done. They walked back together in silence, for the most part. Feetman started to make little sniffling noises again as they neared the top of the stairs.

"Seriously, man, what is _up_ with you? There's something...what shampoo do you use?"

Oh God, was Feetman sniffing the top of his head?! Barmey felt a thrill go down his spine.

"bro. i will straight up fight you right now." Barmey warned, putting his hands up in front of his face and backing away warily. He reached for the doorknob to his room without taking his eyes off of him.

Feetman made a whiny noise like a god damn dog. "I'm sorry! I really just...you don't understand!" What the hell was there to understand?!

"whats uhhhh....seems to be the trouble here?" Benrey droned, stepping through the wall.

"uh, your gordon's a freak, that's the trouble." Barmey answered, glaring at him from behind his new Benrey hiding spot.

Benrey turned to Feetman and smacked his lips. "this true? you a little freak, feetman? showin' some deviance?"

"I'm not- grrrrr. Okay! I am NOT fucking crazy, he smells... _really_ weird! ANYONE would react to that!" Barmey frowned and covertly gave his own armpit a whiff. Mmm, no. He smelled fine.

"i'm getting my katana," Barmey announced, twisting the knob of the door open.

"you're stabbing me right in the feels, _friend_ ," Benrey continued to lay into Feetman, placing a hand over where his heart would be, "calling my uh, bro here a lil stinky boy? not nice."

Feetman bared his teeth. "Well _obviously if you phrase like that, it sounds weird!_ " Huh, that growl'd been pretty deep. And his teeth looked a little pointy there. And that face...he could definitely see the resemblance to Freemind right now. Besides the whole look alike thing. Same type of angry reaction. Too bad Feetman's a total lame ass.

Benrey tilted his head toward Barmey and gave him the side eye. "no homo." he said, before leaning in and sniffing near Barmey's neck.

Barmey widened his eyes and slapped a hand over the spot. "dude," he said in shock, feeling a keen sense of betrayal.

"what? i _said_ no homo."

"fuck that shit! cringe! very cringe! alright, well fuck both of you then. have fun with your little....circle jerk....smelly party." Barmey double flipped them off and retreated back into his room. He slammed the door and leaned up against it, letting out a sigh. Damn. He sure told them. It was harsh, but at least now they'd think twice before messing with him. Idiots.

He felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone

[From b-bro, 2:45:36 AM: u shud prob shower after jacking off lol js]

Barmey sputtered so hard he nearly dropped his phone. His whole face and neck were feeling hot. That was- sucks! Super epic sucks! His thumbs tapped over the screen before he could think any further about it.

[To b-bro, 2:46:53 AM: oh yeah i would say the same 2 u except then u would have to shower all the time haha u have no idea how wrong u are about that but also everything in general jerkwad i literally have a gf so i dont need to do that bec whenever im horny i can have sex with her!!! haha sucks u dont know about that huh such a fail at trolling i am legit sitting here just laughing at u]

[From b-bro: 2:47:00 AM: k]

"Aauughh!" Barmey threw his phone against the floor. Stupid...that had been stupid. He lowered himself down onto his hands and knees to crawl under his bed and retrieve the phone. Wow, it was dusty under here. He'd have to see if he could get Barney to vacuum. He was not mad. He was so not mad right now. His head still felt strangely empty and he was typing again before he knew it.

[To Gordon: 2:56:00 AM: dude. feetman is staying at my place and he SUCKS! >: ( ]

He put the phone onto the carpet floor, face down. His heart lept when is buzzed back right away and he turned it over cautiously, heart in his throat.

[From Gordon: 2:57:00 AM: This is an automatic message. The user you are trying to contact has this number blocked.]

Barmey frowned and tossed the phone down again. Freemind must've changed phone numbers after this whole universe convergence thingy. He'd have to ask Feetman for the new one next breakfast.


	6. Barney House, pt 2 (Feetman/Barmey)

The problem with hiding in Benrey’s room is that he’s confined to one room with _Benrey_. It’s a fact so glaringly obvious that Feetman briefly considered whether his fever had wiped out a huge swath of brain cells. Illness-induced delirium. Canine cognition, perhaps. 

And like, would it _really_ be that bad if the Barneys knew he’d gone dogboy? He wasn’t even stuck with the compulsion to dress like a sexy maid the way that Freemind was. It’s just dog ears and a tail. And a heightened sense of smell. And a marked increase in aggressive energy which most certainly was not there before all this. No, sir. Any sane human would go crazy trapped in a bedroom all day with no space to run around and the maddeningly funky smell of a dude’s overflowing clothing hamper. The smell of the sweat, _god-_

But he’s getting off track here. 

It’s not his fault. Benrey’d lured him into a false sense of security by acting relatively nice during the worst of his illness. He’d still acted like _Benrey,_ of course. His version of ‘doting nurse’ was to keep the volume of his games low while Feetman napped and put some bottles of Powerade within reach of his sheetless mattress. Still, considering Feetman’s vulnerable position, he’d been expecting worse. A _lot_ worse. Fighting to stay awake for fear of waking up with a vital body part missing worse, if he’s really honest. If he hadn’t felt like his brains had been vacuumed out and replaced with cotton, he _definitely_ would have fought harder to stay in Barney’s room. Obviously. 

“Hey, Benrey. Can you switch to multiplayer mode?” If Feetman was feeling well enough to be bored, he might as well exercise his brain by playing Mario Odyssey. He’s no neurologist, but he’s certain that this is a valid path to wellness. If circumstances force him to play with his arch frenemy, so be it.

“uhhh, yeah,” Benrey replies distractedly, face uncharacteristically lined with concentration. “gotta beat this boss real quick first.”

Oh, the boss he’d failed to beat three times now? Feetman _hated_ not having a definite amount of time he’d have to wait. The tension of it all always makes him grit his teeth, even as a full human. _Still…_ it _was_ Benrey’s house and all. So. He hums and sits on the floor in acquiescence. 

Benrey’s eyes are still focused on the screen, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “good sit,” he mumbles under his breath in the exact type of praising tone a trainer would use. It was very, very low. But with Feetman’s sharpened hearing, he’d definitely heard it.

His tail starts to thump against the floor. 

Benrey raises his head up and pauses the game. Feetman wants to die. 

He still holds on to a small and fragile thread of hope that everything is going to be Fine. Benrey’d turned to face him, but he still had on his usual bored expression. That was good, right? They hadn’t yet delved into twisted cycle path territory. 

“oh, you like that? like being a good boy?” Benrey coos, as if talking to an actual fucking dog.

His heart skips a beat. Any tentative good will that had been built up takes a swan dive out the window. 

“Do I _like-_ no!” Feetman snaps. Looks like they were settling back into their usual habits, then. Fine by him. His tail thumps faster. “It’s creepy, man! I’m not a dog! I am NOT an actual- cut that shit out.”

“look like a dog to me,” Benrey states aggressively without missing a beat. “why’re you lying?” 

He is acutely aware that his face is heating up. “Oh, _fuck off!_ That’s-!” Feetman forces himself to clamp his lips shut to stop himself from shouting. He doesn’t want the other residents to hear. Or rather- he doesn’t want one _particular_ resident to hear, and that little shit’s room is right next door. 

Benrey , unfortunately, holds no such qualms “lil puppy boy,” he jeers loudly, tossing his controller aside. “bet you’d listen to me _now_ , huh? for uhhh...a treat?”

 _Don’t_ , Feetman wants to snap, but what comes out instead is a dangerous, inhuman growl. His lips raise. He’s hit with the uncomfortable feeling of the new ear growths flattening against the sides of his head. He wants to- to-

Benrey smirks and leans back on his hands, exposing the vulnerable lines of his chest and stomach underneath his T-shirt. “uh oh,” he lilts. “you gonna bite me?” 

He lifts his chin to expose the line of his throat without breaking that sharp smile. “better make it count. better kill me in one shot”

A thrill goes down Feetman’s spine and his tail stiffens. He grips his knees, tight enough to hurt. _Yeah,_ the strange, new, _exhilarating_ part of his mind says. _Pin him down and bite at his throat. Make him submit._ His dick gives a traitorous twitch at the thought.

Feetman stands up without another word and walks out of the room. 

Fuck it, he thinks heatedly as he storms down the hall. He’s going to go outside and run around the property. Who gives a motherfuck what the others’ reactions are? _Nothing_ could be worse than dealing with _that._

The bathroom door suddenly swings open, stopping him in his tracks. Barmey strolls out in a billow of Axe-scented steam, wearing nothing but a loosely tied towel around his pale, chubby waist. His damp hair sticks out around his head in a way that halfway mimics Benrey’s unbrushed rat’s nest. 

Perhaps his inner dialogue had spoken too soon. 

There’s nowhere to hide. Nothing he can possibly do as Barmey does a double take and grins maliciously from ear to ear. 

“haha, what the fuck? what _is_ that? you cosplaying Polt or something? ” Oh, God. What did Feetman ever do to deserve this? Was it the ‘sexually molesting catboy maid Freemind’ thing? He’d only touched his dick for like, a second! 

“Who the fuck is- forget it. No. I’m not. These are real.” Feetman says stiffly, as Barmey begins to circle him. He almost succeeds in keeping the shame out of his voice. He might not know Barmey that well, but from what he’s gathered this guy is basically Benrey without the polite front. But since the opposite was also true, there’s a chance that Feetman can get away with projecting himself as Unbulliable. Stop the harassment from doubling. Yeah. Right. 

“Barmey-” he starts in his lecture voice “you know magic’s real, right? You live with Benrey, of course you do. So, the dog-”

Barmey yanks at his tail. Hard. Feetman yelps and unsuccessfully swats at him. “I said it’s real!” he snaps.

“calm down, dude. jeez.” He circles back and raises his hands up as if he’s just an innocent aggressed party. “you can’t _honestly_ expect me to believe crazy shit like that right off the bat.”

Feetman huffs and crosses his arms. His tail hangs low between his legs, still sore. He knows that, logically, this is a whole-ass other person. But patchy facial hair and lack of dark eye circles aside, Barmey’s currently a dead ringer. It’s setting off Feetman’s fight-with-Benrey trigger. Big time. “So you just try to grab at it? What if it- what if it _was_ cosplay? What if it was a really expensive, I don’t know...custom made….furry piece? You could’ve broken it and owed me hundreds of dollars!”

“major sucks for you, then. i don’t even _have_ that much money,” Barmey says triumphantly. 

“That’s not really something to be proud of,” Feetman says flatly.

Barmey frowns and looks at his feet. “oh.” What was that? Feetman’s sharply honed weakness detector starts to zero in like a fuckin’. Bloodhound catching the fox’s scent. He feels his tail start to raise. 

Barmey, to his credit, is quick to recover. “uh- well, well how do you know so much about furry shit, anyway?” he shoots back. “you jacking off to animals or sumthin’?”

The memory of Freemind mewling on his lap flashes through his mind. “W- No!” he sputters. “Why would you even…I mean, I meant that as a random _example_ , I-” A snarl started up from his throat, unbidden. He can’t resist the urge to show off his sharp canine teeth. Pure defensive response. 

Welp. That’s it. He’s done for. Benrey would’ve taken that little slip-up and ran with it all the way to the endzone. Spray bottle and muzzle-related jeers, here he comes. Barney could only do so much to balance the chaos out. With twice the aggressors, he would never know peace for as long as he stayed here. He begins to mentally calculate how long he can afford to stay in an Airbnb with a host who doesn’t scrutinize their guests too closely in his current jobless state.

But Barmey just blows a raspberry at him and adjusts his towel, clearly intent on ending the exchange and getting to his room. “ _sure_ ,” he sneers as he brushes past. “whatever you say, dawg.” 

Feetman catches a faint whiff of that same ... _something_ he’d smelled on him the other night before Barmey shuts the door.

Shockingly enough, it is Barney who has the worst reaction. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been hiding these past few days?” he demands. “Jesus, Feetman! You should’ve come to me, I’d have- did _Benrey_ do this to you?” 

Feetman weighs his options. He vaguely recalls Freemind developing similar flu-like symptoms before all the cat stuff appeared, so it’s likely he’d caught some sort of mutated version from him. Explaining all of that, however, would be a serious violation of privacy. Fact of the matter is, Feetman and Freeman had spent a retroactively concerning amount of time clowning their worst twin before things had calmed down. And even then, it’d only stopped when the jokes got too tired to use without internally cringing at their own hack behavior. 

...Though waking up in the middle of the night to his limbs tied to the bed, his skull in a vice and a knife at his throat had proved a pretty convincing argument on Freemind’s part, come to think of it. It’d been traumatizing enough for Feetman to forget until just now in any case. He suppresses a shiver and pushes that shit right on back into his mind’s amnesia box where it belongs.

He hadn’t a clue what consequences blaming this on Benrey might yield, however. On one hand, it provided a rare opportunity to weaponize Blame. Benrey, as far as he knew, had gotten away with all the bullshit he’d pulled at Black Mesa relatively scott free. Didn’t even have the decency to permanently die after the big boss fight. Did it really matter _why_ Benrey was punished, so long as it happened? Was that not justice? On the other hand, Benrey might have started the fucking Resonance Cascade over a missing passport, or...dick slip, for that matter. Getting framed for spreading Dogboy Disease might make him vindictive enough to tear the fabric of reality apart.

He settles for a classic Shrug and Say ‘I Don’t Know’ maneuver. Barney is skeptical, but doesn’t push him further.

The Barneys’ house is on a fairly large piece of land, so Feetman has ample room to run around and explore. If he chases a rabbit here or there, it was good cardio anyway. If he happened to relieve himself on trees at the edges of the property, it was purely coincidence. Though, privately, he dreads to think about what he might do if he spotted another dog in his yard. He means- _a_ dog in _Barney’s_ yard. Of course. 

It's during one such incident of perfectly normal tree-pissing that he hears the tell tale smack of lips beside him. 

“hey,” Benrey says casually, leaning an arm up against the tree and unabashedly looking down at Feetman’s dick.

Feetman turns wide in alarm, and the stream splashes a line across Benrey’s sweatpant- clad legs. The shock is enough to stop him right up again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” Benrey says as Feetman turns around to hastily tuck himself back into his pants. He does not, Feetman notes, sound nearly as upset as he should.

“You startled me!” he snaps back, trying desperately to keep his mortification at bay. “Don’t...sneak up on people who’re taking a leak if you don’t want to get pissed on!”

“woah, what? that some sort of doggy vengeance?” Benrey leers at him. “so you admit you did it on purpose then.”

“I DID NOT-” Feetman growls. Stops himself. Takes a breath. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Benrey.” What was the point of all of this? Why does he bother arguing with someone either unable or unwilling to follow basic human logic? _Why_ is his tail starting to wag? “And anyway, what’re you even doing here? Huh? You following me around again like you did at Black Mesa?”

Benrey gives no indication of having heard him. He lifts one leg out in front of him to examine it idly. “you’re a bad lil pup, aincha? i think you need some uh, _serious_ house training.”

Feetman wants to tackle him to the ground, and nearly does so. But he is cognizant enough to realize he’d just be proving Benrey correct. He won’t be goaded into such childish violence. He’s better than that. He’s better than the instincts screaming at him to push the other man’s face into the dirt and keep him there until he apologized. Because that’s just what to do, with objects or packmates you own. Benrey might not know how to be a mature adult, but Feetman sure does. 

Feetman’s tail droops. He turns away with a final ‘fuck you’ send off and heads off in the direction of Barney’s scent trail. Barney, Feetman has noticed, acted a bit like a force field when it came to Benrey’s more heinous brands of bullshit.

“running away again, chicken hat?” Benrey calls after him.

He’s also mature enough to ignore that sort of jeering, of course. It was a weak insult to begin with. _All_ of Benrey’s insults were childish, actually. Childish and inane bullshit. He might have sunk to Benrey’s level in the past, but living with his alternate universe selves had given him some much-needed clarity. Namely, that he should think about what Freemind would do in a given situation, and then do the exact opposite of that. Or even think about what _Freeman_ would do and try to emulate it, though in all honestly that guy could be way up his own ass sometimes-

“sup dogboy.” Barmey calls. He’s sitting crossed legged on a crate in the middle of the field, idly playing with a knife.

Speak of the devil. “Hey, Barmey,” Feetman says flatly. Turns out, he had _just missed_ Barney. 

“Do you know where he went?” They’d discussed playing a game of catch earlier, and he's honestly looking forward to it. If he's stuck with dog aspects, might as well scientifically test how high he can jump to catch a frisbee in his mouth, right? 

Barmey snorts. “no? why the fuck would i?”

Feetman’s ears flatten. Maybe it’d been the altercation with Benrey earlier, but his Barmey Tolerance is hitting a dangerous low. “Thanks for nothing, then,” he snaps.

Barmey looks up at him and gives him a dismissive once over. “what’s your problem?”

Feetman isn't sure, himself. Like, he’s obviously pissed at Benrey, sure, but Barmey had barely instigated this time. He's starting to figure out the guy is mostly bark and no bite, anyway. Pun intended.

“did benrey catch you fapping to pictures of his feet again?” he continues with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.

Feetman honest-to-God hears the sound of a record scratch in his head. _“What?”_

“oh, yeah. he told me _all_ about it. personally i don’t see why using a dude’s pair of feet isn’t gay, but i’m not really an expert the way you a-”

He’s cut off at Feetman grips a fist full of shirt collar and boldly drags him off the crate. _“What did you say?”_ he snarls.

Barmey silently stares at him with rounded eyes, pink faced and breathing heavy. It’s... _incredibly_ satisfying. Feetman wishes that was all it’d take to shut _Benrey_ up. In fact, if he squinted…

Barmey licks his lips. “bro. this is like,” he cuts himself off, laughing nervously. “ _hella_ gay.” 

Yeah. The voice cadence is sort of similar, too. Benrey’s is deeper, but it might get higher if he got scared, for all Feetman knew. He’d like to imagine so, in any case. He gives Barmey a firm shake and wants to think that Benrey would make that type of alarmed face, too. _“Shut. Up.”_ he growls.

Barmey closes his mouth and swallows. That strange scent’s wafting from him again. What _is_ that? Somewhat sweet, but more phenomenal than anything else. He buries his nose against the side of Benr- of Barmey’s neck and huffs it in, open mouthed and panting. 

Barmey squirms against him and weakly pushes at his shoulders. “t-that’s- your nose is cold, man,” he whined. Oh, that’s a nice sound. Another burst of scent hits his nose. Yeah. Sweet, and- kind of musky. And he really _does_ almost smell like Benrey underneath. He can feel his tail start to go wild behind him. 

The body under him starts to wiggle again. “are you seriously going to-”

Feetman grips Bennnnmmmarmey around the throat lightly as a warning and growls deep from his chest. Yeah. _Yes._

“I thought I told you to _shut the fuck up,”_ he snarls. He licks a line up the man’s pulsepoint all the way to his jaw. He feels so _hot._

“mmph,” the man under him whimpers. 

Feetman is suddenly aware that he’s hard, and that nice little noise had pushed it into being borderline painful.

He pushes the man back up onto the crate and clamors up on top of him. Licks and nips at his neck and ears and face in wild abandon, letting out quiet little snarls and yips whenever the body jolts under him.

The hands which had been lightly pushing at his shoulders travel up to run through his hair and scratch near his ears. Feels nice.

 _“ah,”_ he lets out a breathy little moan. _“gordon…”_

He tries to adjust his legs under Feetman, pressing the hard line of his dick against Feetman’s thigh . The motion draws Feetman’s attention to the fact that he had been rutting against his soft belly. That was- this was- no. _Christ_ did it feel good, though. Well. A little rough with the zipper. He should- take it out, and then. Yeah. Ruck Benrey’s shirt up, cum all over his chest-

Feetman raises his head up from his neck, dizzy and panting. 

He stares down at a beat red face and dilated pupils and patchy facial hair and lack of dark eye circles…

Not Benrey.

Barmey. 

“Oh- shit-” Feetman stutters as he hastily gets off of him. Barmey raises himself up to his elbows and stares at him, dazed. 

“wuh?”

“I am- _so sorry.”_ Feetman says pleadingly, backing away with his tail tucked between his legs. This is _bad._ This is _so much worse_ than any of the other shit he’d done. He can feel an apologetic whine scratch at the back of his throat. “This isn’t- I’m a good person! I swear!" he continues. “I’m not…”

What would Freemind do in this situation? Not slink away without another word, that’s for sure. He’s pretty sure Freeman wouldn’t either, but eh.

Guess this one was going to be a bit of a wash.  
  



	7. Barney House, pt 3 (Feetman/Benrey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can you tell if your chicken's become an incel ?

Barmey yawned. It mega ultra sucked that his shift started at eight in the morning, but at least he managed to snag a desk job this time. Now he could just sit around and goof off all day. He couldn’t get away with playing an MMO without getting yelled at, but he could appreciate the retrogames from time to time. Space Invaders, here he comes.

“Wow. Fucking _classic._ ” someone sneered from behind him.

Barmey jumped in his seat and turned around. Shit! Was that management? Quick! Uh- who could he blame this on? 

“the last guy made me- gordon?”

Gordon Freemind stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. At Barmey’s reply, he scowled and started toward him.“What the hell are we even _paying_ you guards for?” he continued as he advanced. “Just sitting around on your ass all day! You realize a literal monkey could do your job better, right? I’ve read some papers on it.”

Barmey laughed, even as he felt a tightness in his belly when Gordon loomed over him. “man, whatever.” he drawled, leaning back casually in his chair. “beats causing extra problems the way you scientists are always doing. the guards are only useless until you lazy pencil pushers can’t be bothered to solder a wire together or something. ”

Gordon’s brows furrowed in anger. He inhaled loudly through his nose. Barmey was expecting some more friendly ribbing, or maybe a rant about the workplace in general. What he was _not_ expecting was for Gordon to yank him up by his tie and slam him down against the desk.

 _“What the fuck did you just say?”_ he growled, getting right up in Barmey’s face. Barmey could hear how fast his own heart was going. He felt dizzy from it. Gordon was basically right on top of him now. Close enough to...

Gordon leaned in until Barmey could feel the tickle of breath against his neck. He shuddered. “g-gordon,” he squeaked. He tried to push at the other man’s shoulder, but his wrist was grasped and slammed right back down onto the desktop. “hah,” he breathed.

Gordon was huffing in his scent now, excited from it, nipping lightly at skin over his pulse. “You smell like a bitch in heat,” he panted in his ear. Barmey shuddered. 

The grip on his tie vanished. Barmey heard rustling and the jingling of a belt. “You want some of this? Huh? Want a piece of The Freeman?” 

Barmey squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. 

A palm ground against his dick and Barmey arched up into it. “I’m not hearing an answer,” he heard Gordon say testily.

“yes,” he gasped, shamelessly trying to grind up against Gordon’s hand. “i want- want you so bad gordon, _oh my god._ ” The pressure against his dick disappeared and Barmey couldn’t help but whine. 

“C’mere,” Gordon growled, pulling at his vest strap. Barmey opened his eyes. The other man was backing away and trying to pull Barmey with him. Barmey pushed himself up and saw that Gordon had taken his cock out and had it in hand. It was hard and flushed red and Barmey felt another surge of heat at the thought that it was because of _him._

“Yeah, come on. _Come here,_ Jesus. Take off that stupid fucking helmet.” Barmey was already fumbling with the strap before he even finished the order. Gordon threaded a hand into Barmey’s hair after he tossed it aside. “Thaaaat’s it. _Good.”_

Barmey swallowed hard, feeling tingly at the praise. He felt the hand on his head push him down and he complied without another thought. Soon he was on his knees and at eye level with Gordon’s cock. It twitched. He bit his lip. 

“Why don’t you give it a lick,” Gordon panted. When Barmey opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, he growled in approval. Yes. He was gonna do it. Gonna lick Gordon like it was lollipop until he- hey! Hold up. Are penises _supposed_ to be this red? Or- have that weird bump at the base, for that matter?

He wanted to articulate his concerns, but the most he could get out was “wuh?” 

Gordon growled again. This time it sounded a lot less friendly. Barmey peered up through his lashes and saw Gordon snarling at him, lips raised to show sharpened teeth, dog ears pinned back against his- 

[BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP]

Barmey awoke with a gasp. Huh? What? He groaned and attempted to feel around for his phone. The remnants of his dream had already faded away by the time he shut the alarm off.

“mmurph,” he groaned into his pillowcase. Whatever the dream had been, it gave him bad vibes. Bleugh. Whatever. Just the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his life, he guessed. He started to roll out of bed and paused.

“wait...” Something was off. His upper thighs felt wet. “what the fuck?” He lifted the covers to examine himself.

“you have _got_ to be kidding me,” he groaned. A _wet dream?_ He was a grown man, this was -aurgghhh! Well wasn’t this just great! Trying to sneak downstairs to wash his sheets would be hard enough to survive with just his regular roommates, but now he had to contend with getting past _dog Feetman._

He refused to let his thoughts linger on Feetman. 

Barmey and Feetman had silently agreed that they weren't going to look at or speak to each other. It'd worked so far for the past week. Feetman had apologized, technically, and Barmey didn't want to think about what'd went down at all. In a way, he could even empathize. Feetman has to deal with horny dog instincts, and Barmey knows himself to be _incredibly_ hard to resist. He kept going on about Barmey’s smell before- sexy pheromones, maybe? Barmey was probably the equivalent to a stern, but big boobed Onee-chan whether Feetman was actually gay or not. All he could do was make it easier on the guy by providing the least amount of temptation possible.

It was just a shame they couldn’t avoid each other entirely. Communal breakfast was a rule Barney heavily enforced for no other reason besides for all those times Barmey or Benrey had stayed holed up in their rooms for weeks on end. What’s even the big deal? All that accomplished was that it messed up any plans for multi-day campaigns. What a prick.

Even that wasn’t the end of the world, though. He did his part to prevent any sort of breakfast time behavioral crisis by bringing down his Switch. He's allowed to play at the table sometimes, because Barney had failed to stop Benrey from doing it entirely. Fair's fair. And if Barmey wasn't really in the mood to eat anything, that was normal too. His body was simply too awesome to feel like it needed food sometimes. 

No. _He_ was cool. The _real_ problem came from whatever the fuck Feetman and Benrey were doing.

They were angled away from each other to a ridiculous degree. Benrey played on his phone. Feetman ate bits of bacon in the most pissy way Barmey'd ever seen. Like, come on! How can you still be mad when eating _bacon_? 

"Oh, my God. Would you _stop_ doing that?" Feetman snapped. His lips were raised enough to show his long eyeteeth again. Just like before, when he- Barmey's going to look away now. 

"uh, what?" Benrey replied, sounding half-distracted. Though...Barmey guessed he usually sounded like that.

"The noise! High pitched noise! Is that a fucking dog whistle?"

“i dunno what you're talking about." 

"Don't do that," Feetman growled. Barmey shuddered reflexively. Get it together, Calhoun! Chicks! Boobs! Japanese school girls! "Don't fucking- gaslight me, or whatever the hell you're trying to do. I _know_ I'm not imagining it."

"careful," Benrey sing songed. "you’re startin to yip. gonna uh… gonna start barking at the table? we gotta leash you up out back?"

Feetman let out an angry strangled noise and stood up. "You know what? I think I will go out! _Anything's_ better than being forced to spend time with you!" He stormed off. 

"Hm," said Barney, taking a sip from a coffee mug that said _DON’T TALK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD MY CUM_ on the side of it. He had accepted this gift from his housemates stoically, and had yet to acknowledge anything amiss about it. "Think some extra walks would cut it?" 

"i dunno what to tell you, man. i'm not even doing anything." Benrey mumbled.

"yeah, he's fail," Barmey added, eager to pile on. "let's kick him out. or old yeller him, whichever."

Barney glanced sideways at Barmey and then smiled at Benrey. "Really. Mind if I borrow your phone for a moment? Please?" 

"w- no? use your own phone, man." Benrey said, hastily stuffing it back into his hoodie pocket. 

"Just want a peek at your apps."

"that's classified information."

"We're at the same clearance level."

Benrey rolled his eyes up to the side for a moment. "uhhh....no. i got promoted right before this. top secret." 

Barmey suddenly remembered that he was still sore about the jack off text message. "mm...hm. you're acting pretty sus right now, benrey."

Benrey fixed him with an ice cold, near-reptilian stare for a moment before his face melted to neutral. He took his phone back out and began to scroll on it. 

"...I'll just give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you _don't_ have a dog whistle app on there, then." Barney continued when it was clear Benrey had decided to end the conversation. “In any case, I have a list of odd jobs that could use the help of your supernatural abilities, if you’d be so inclined. And make sure Feetman gets his exercise. I don’t want t’come home to any more shredded cushions.”

Benrey shrugged and grunted an affirmative without looking up.

"As for you,” he turned to Barmey. “Thought I'd take you out to the range. Figured you could use it." 

That did sound epic, actually. “sweet. i’ve been stockpiling.”

Funnily enough, it turned out that Feetman _had_ gone out into the yard. So of course, he had to try and ruin the outing by running interception.

"Going out? Can I come?" he asked eagerly, tail wagging. 

Barmey crossed his arms and looked away. Jeez, desperate much? He wished Feetman would use some common sense. He _clearly_ wasn’t considering the inherent erotisicm that came from handling firearms. What if he lost control again at the range? And in front of _Barney,_ no less- Feetman pinning him to the ground and rutting against his leg, while Barney looked on in shock? Ugh, he didn’t even want to picture it.

"We'll be working with explosives. Not the best for someone with dog hearing," Barney explained. Yeah, you tell him!

Feetman cocked his head. "Explosives? At a _shooting_ range?"

He sounded incredulous. Barmey couldn't help explaining. "yeah. we got c4, fireworks, dynamite." he bragged. "been playing around with an aluminum powder nitroglycerin mix that makes its detonation shockwave stronger.”

"I've found the number of indoor combustion incidents took a real dip once I let him have at it in a dedicated space once in a while," Barney continued.

"Huh," said Feetman, looking thoughtful. "Maybe we should try that with Freemind..." 

Freemind? Barmey perked up and grinned at him. "so freemind's been doing it too? haha. that is _so_ like him. i remember one time he sent in a package bomb to work as a prank? Oh, man! Otis was freaking way out, the dumb fatso. All 'wahh, I don't want to die!' Fail. I got to be on the team that took it out to the middle of the desert to let it detonate. It was AMAZING! I've actually been meaning to ask him about the chemical composition for a while now, so maybe you can-" 

“Uh, you know what? I think you’re right, Barney,” Feetman hastily interrupted. He started to slowly back away. “I’ll just...sit this one out.”

-

He had a blast at the range, of course. Get it? He's so funny. 

Barney had gotten pretty suck at shooting all of a sudden though, so they ended up staying a lot longer than they usually did. Barmey guessed it was fun to shoot at targets too, but come on! Boring! They’d been out for so long it was starting to get light out again! Augghh.

"man, come on! i'm starving!" he groaned.

"Oh, alright," Barney relented. "Guess enough time must've passed for it, anyway." 

Uh...huh. "enough time for what?"

"Nothin'." 

Oh, yeah right! Nothing suspicious at all, there! _Not_. But Barney refused to elaborate the whole ride back, no matter how much Barmey hassled him. Whatever. Knowing Barney, it was probably something dumb and lame anyway.

"you should make me dinner as an apology for holding me hostage there for so long," Barmey told him as they pulled up. "i want chicken tenders."

"You joking? I took you out to have a good time. And I _know_ you enjoyed it,” he shoved at Barmey’s shoulder and then reached out to ruffle his hair. He _knows_ Barmey hates that. “So don't go trying that woe is me routine on me. If anythin' you should be fixin' _me_ dinner." 

"bro, no. my tendies." Barmey whined.

He heard a weird noise when walking up the driveway and stopped. "did you hear that?" 

"Hear what?" 

It sounded like a bird, maybe? Or some sort of wounded animal. He hoped it wasn't the latter. That tended to attract coyotes. They were the reason Barmey wasn’t allowed to set up booby traps around the property anymore. Stupid ‘yotes.

Benrey stuck his head out of his window. "oh, hey. you guys are back," he said, leaning his hands against the sill. His hair had somehow gotten more mussed up than usual. 

"you missed out, dude!" Barmey called back. "i basically reduced a whole corner to a fucking scorchmark like a boss. it was sick!" 

"that's uh,- woah." Woah? "that sounds cool." 

"it was. your loss. and now barney's gonna cook us dinner." 

Barney came up beside him and elbowed him. "That's a goddang lie." 

"no. no. he's the one lying. it's gonna be tendies," Barmey insisted. If he could get Benrey on his side, maybe they could weather Barney down. That's usually how it worked. 

Benrey made a choked noise and his expression grew strained. Really? No? That's weird. Barmey squinted up at him. "you good?"

"yeah. i'm- mmmgud," he gasped. 

"you look kinda flushed ..." Benrey was so winded he had to brace himself against the windowsill. He pointed it out to Barney when he came to stand beside him.“you seeing this?”

Barney was squinting up at them too, hand on his chin. "Oh, I'm lookin' alright." he answered dryly.

"Hey, Benrey!" Barney called out. "Where's Feetman? You two kiss and make up?" 

Benrey closed his eyes and hung his head down, groaning. Likely sad now at the homo implication of it all.

"hah! good one."

"we-," Benrey lifted his head up again and swallowed wetly enough to hear. What was that, mucus? Kind of gross. "yuh. agh-. made up."

"Well I sure am glad to hear it!" Barney said cheerfully. He clapped a hand down on Barmey's shoulder and started to lead him to the door. "Know what? Maybe I will cook something after all. In celebration." 

"oh, hell yes!” Barmey pumped his fist. “ _all_ the dinner! haha."

"And you're helping me," he continued.

"what? come on. no. do i look like a fucking chef to you?" Barmey protested as Barney corralled him up the porch.

“You comin’ Benrey?”

“hhhhaaammmmmph,” he gasped. “s-soon.”

“i think benrey might be sick,” Barmey stated as they entered the house. “maybe he shouldn’t come down here. keep him quarantined.” Not to mention, the guy had a tendency to suck up a plate of tendies like a goddamn vacuum.

"Nah. I'm sure he's fine," Barney said dismissively. "Besides, he and Feetman should stay hydrated- 'specially Benrey if he is sick," he added hastily. 

Damn it! What a chore. He spent all day setting up explosives, blowing up explosives, shooting targets, waiting until he was bored to tears, packing shit up, and for what? _This_? Even more work? Life could be so unfair sometimes. He's never going out with Barney again. Douchebag.

Of course, Barney gave him draconian orders to shower off all the dirt and black dust Barmey had accumulated first. Got real particular on the ‘how’, too. Why the _fuck_ should Barmey use the downstairs shower? Nah. Naw. He’ll be using his own bathroom, thank you very much. He returned to his room afterward to find that Feetman and Benrey weren’t done with their arguing spree after all. If the noises he was hearing through the wall was any indication of it, anyway. 

“hey, keep it down!” he yelled, banging his fist against the wall. If they heard it, they ignored it. 

“damn it,” he grumbled. “why the hell does benrey get to reap the reward of a home cooked meal if he lied about fixing his problem? _or_ feetman, for that matter.” If he snitched, Barney might forego cooking. He could text him, but that was really a toss up. Benrey forgot to check his phone a lot, and this was a time-sensitive mission. 

“no,” he decided. He puffed out his chest. “i’m going to march on over there and tell them what’s what.” He’d been feeling a distinct lack of respect from everyone in this household recently. That ended _today._

He reached Benrey’s door and raised his fist to knock. There was a loud thud coming from behind it. Something must have fallen over, and whatever it was caused enough vibration for the door to swing open a crack.

He would have thought nothing of it but a glimpse of what was happening behind it gave him pause. It looked like…

He peeked his eye through to fully investigate.

Feetman’s back was to the door. His tail peeked out from under his shirt and was wagging lazily. Between his spread legs, Benrey appeared to be on his knees in front of him. Barmey couldn’t see his face, but one of his arms was moving at Feetman’s waist level. 

The other was wrapped around his own meat. His shorts were only undone enough to pull it out. Must’ve done it in a hurry. The fat, leaking head peeked through for every stroke he pulled. And the sound...that distinct gagging sound he’s heard a thousand times through his computer headphones...

Barmey stumbled back from the door. That was. Uh. Um.

Yeah, he’s good. This is fine. He’s not- he’s not gonna even trip about it right now. Can't. He has to go help Barney make dinner.

\--

“you’re fucking it up, bro.”

“I am _not,_ ” Feetman argued back, tail going crazy against the back legs of the chair.

“easiest thing in the world to eat and you can’t do it right,” Benrey drawled. He shook his head sadly and bit a tendie piece off his fork. The fork head went with it. “oh uh. whoops.”

“Wow. Amazing,” Feetman spat with a wide, pointy grin. “ _You_ can’t even use a _fork_ right!” 

Benrey reached over and snagged Feetman’s fork right out of his hand. “ooh look at that. my fork is fine.”

“Hey! Give it!” Feetman giggled. His attempt to retrieve the fork devolved into something like a slap fight between the two, though it was getting more intense by the second.

Barney cleared his throat. “We have a pretty strict ‘No wrestling at the table’ policy in this household,” he said. 

Feetman and Benrey both startled, as if noticing Barney for the first time. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Said Feetman sheepishly, detangling his arms from Benrey’s. His tail lowered in apology.

Barmey picked at his food.

“This is uh. Great stuff, Barney,” Feetman said. He winced. “The food, I mean. Gordon likes.”

“‘gordon likes?’” Benrey chortled. He looked over to Barmey and raised his eyebrows.

“....mega cringe,” Barmey said in a dazed voice after a delay. 

“Shut up! I’m just like- trying to show my thanks here.”

“Well I sure do appreciate it,” Barney said cheerfully. He tilted his head back and took a long pull from his beer bottle. Barmey could see the gulping movement through the skin of his stubble-covered throat. “Bout time _someone_ shows their thanks for _all the favors_ I do around here.”

Feetman nodded. “I...get what you’re saying,” he said carefully. “I mean! I can relate, being a team leader myself.”

“pfffft,” said Benrey. 

Feetman rounded on Benrey, tail going wild again. “Got something else to say?” he asked aggressively.

Benrey leaned back in his seat to better glare back up at Feetman. “wuh wuh wuh. im gordon feetman and i cry like a chicken hat bitch baby every time i need to jump between crates.”

“Those crates were above a _bottomless pit_!”

“scared lil boy- uh. lil puppy,” Benrey jeered. “all whimpery.”

“Whatever, man!” Feetman pouted and crossed his (surprisingly tan, muscular) arms. “At least I don’t think _Lightning McQueen_ is real.”

Barmey whipped his head up in alarm. “he’s not?!”

Feetman barked out a laugh sharp enough to cause Barmey’s heart to jump. “You, too?” he sneered.“I guess that makes sense. You _would_ be about as dumb as Benrey, wouldn’t you.” 

The sneer and that teasing look in his eye made Barmey swallow heavily. He didn’t want to be at the table for one single second longer. 

“i think i need to go process this,” he proclaimed, rising abruptly from the table. “barney, i’m not thanking you for cooking. you made me do at least half the work. you’re welcome.”

“I understand.” Barney finished his beer. “I know the task of pourin’ frozen peas inta boiling water and then drainin’ em soon after can be awful taxing on the best of us. And _you two_ ,” he pointed his bottle at Feetman and Benrey, who were also attempting to sneak away, “can do the dishes. Plus I got a couple new...ground rules I need to outline. On account of your apparent lack of need for privacy.”

Feetman whined.

“killjoy,” Benrey accused.

Finally, time to think. The more Barmey rotated this ridiculous situation in his mind as he returned to his room, the less it added up. They’re fucking? Benrey _allowed_ Feetman to shove a dick in his mouth? He was filled with disbelief as he climbed the stairs. Getting dry humped was one thing- _totally_ different. Barmey didn’t do jack shit. But _this..._ this was _actually_ gay. And like. Barney wasn’t gay. _He_ certainly wasn’t gay. _At all._ So why would _Benrey_ be-

He stopped short in the middle of the hallway. What if Feetman... _did_ something to him? It would explain what he saw, plus- he wasn’t an idiot, ok? He might not remember the details of those wet dreams, or the reasons behind his reactions to certain Feetman antics, but they _definitely_ hadn’t appeared until after the humping incident. The dog thing was a disease, right? Could he have infected the other members of the household? Were they all asymptomatic carriers? Benrey’d been sharing a room with him, for fuck’s sake! 

He burst into Benrey’s empty room, intent on finding- something. Or. Actually. What the hell would he even expect to find? A rainbow dog shaped cursed amulet? Even if it existed, it’d be hard to dig through all these empty cans. He toed at one of them warily. Hm…

He heard two pairs of heavy footsteps coming right towards the door. Shit! His heart pounded in his chest as he desperately looked around. A half open closet door caught his eye. Aha! He’d just hide in here until they left! Smart!

He’d barely gotten the door shut behind him before Feetman and Benrey entered the room, already in the midst of another weird sexually-tense argument. 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Feetman rumbled in a heated tone as he slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. He pushed at Benrey’s chest, hard. “ Huh? Calling me a little bitch baby in front of everyone?”

“what’s the problem?” Benrey lilted as he allowed Feetman to slowly shove him backward toward the mattress. His eyes were sharp and his grin was wide. “you okay? hurt your feelings?”

Feetman showed his teeth and growled so dangerously that Barmey felt a low jerk in his belly. “Just take your fucking clothes off before I tear them off you myself.” He was already tugged at Benrey’s shirt as he said it. When Benrey slowly reached down to unbutton his shorts, he hissed through his teeth. “Thaaat’s it. _Good.”_

Barmey had to slap a hand over his mouth to smother a whimper. Okay, he had not thought the plan through, clearly. And this nightmare scenario _should_ be disgusting. But... something about the way Feetman had said it made his blood rush down south, and _fast_. He palmed at himself for a moment, thoughtlessly, before yanking his hand away.

Benrey laughed. “yeah? i’m good?” he asked, voice breathy. “well you’re a naughty lil’ puppy, aincha? jumping up on me all day when i’m tryna work.”

“Clearly. Not. _Enough.”_ Feetman huffed. Benrey’s shirt was hiked up high enough for him to grab his bare hips and _squeeze,_ pulling him closer. “I can smell how hot you are for this,” he panted, licking a long stripe up Benrey’s neck and cheek. “You’re not fooling _anyone_.” 

Barmey started rubbing at himself through his shorts again.

“yeah, so- _ah,”_ Feetman pulled him closer. Barmey could see Benrey’s face as he squirmed in the larger man’s hold, cheeks flushed and lips parted. Feetman leaned in and kissed him roughly, sloppily enough for Barmey to catch glimpses of their tongues sliding together. Feetman drew back and started to bite at Benrey’s neck, each nip drawing a new, high, delicious sound from the shorter man.

 _Wants it so bad._ The phrase came to Barmey’s mind unbidden and he felt a full-bodied rush of heat from it. He bit his lip and slipped his hand beneath his shorts. The utter _wrongness_ of the situation tugged at the back of his mind, but the resulting shame just made his dick throb harder. A double of him, about to get railed by a double of...

“Get on the bed. Strip and get on the _fucking_ bed right now, you little slut.” Gordon Feetman ordered through clenched teeth. He was hastily stripping himself of his own clothes, hindered a little by how wild his tail was moving. Little thicker round the middle, Barmey thought distantly. But otherwise...

“yes siiiir,” Benrey drawled, dropping trow and lifting his shirt the rest of the way over his head. Barmey’d caught glimpses of him here and there, but this confirmed that they were _basically_ the same below the neck. Skin a little paler. Least hairy out of the three Barneys by far, but there was still a visible black dusting on his chest and stomach and thighs. Hog...was definitely the same. Barmey was exactly that large. Yep. 

As Benrey dropped down onto the mattress and leaned back onto his elbows, Barmey noticed that his flush crawled from his cheeks all the way down to his chest. Barmey rubbed his other hand against the side of his own neck. Hot. And now that he paid attention, the closet had become practically stifling. He couldn’t- take off his shirt, right? For whatever reason, that action seemed to be crossing some sort of line. He _could_ push his shorts down a little, though. That seemed about right. He wasn’t even jacking his meat, he was just...palming at his lower belly and pubes.

Gordon Feetman was panting hard as he crawled onto the mattress toward Benrey. Benrey shuffled back and spread his thighs apart. “bussy all nice and slick for yah, boss.”

“Shut _up,_ ” Gordon groaned as he slotted himself between those legs. He was stroking at himself now, red and rock hard and dripping so much pre that he was slick down to the base. 

“make me,” the other challenged between his own groaning, open-mouthed little pants. “you won’t.”

Gordon snarled, pulled his partner forward by the legs, and practically folded him in half. He sunk into him with a long, dirty sound, the contented half-growl of a dog getting scratched in just the right spot. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. 

_“ffffffuuuuck,”_ Benrey moaned. Barmey echoed him at a whisper as he licked his palm and started to stroke himself. 

Gordon rutted into him, fast and hard. His face pressed into his partners neck, licking and nipping with little yips and growls, just like that time against Barmey on the crate, except this time his hard cock wasn’t against his belly, it was buried deep, stroking inside...Barmey started to pant. He stroked himself faster.

He- his partner- Benrey- tilted his chin up to give better access. His hands clawed at Gordons shoulders. Eyes wide and lips wet with drool. His shameless moans punctured by the occasional breathless grunt when Gordon fucked into him particularly hard. Barmey couldn’t help but wonder whether _he_ would be reduced to that, if he were to be- he let out a choked little moan and shoved his fingers into his mouth. Felt a rush so dizzying he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment.

Gordon lifted his head up. _“Gonna cum,”_ he panted. Benrey’s eyes slid shut. He nodded violently.

Gordon righted himself up enough to adjust the hold he had on his partner’s thighs. He spread them wider, pushed them further back. His dick slipped out - leading to disappointed, animalistic grunts by both parties. He shuffled forward until his knees were practically at his partner’s waist. He sunk back inside with a satisfied grunt and licked his lips. _Full mating press_ , Barmey thought distantly, arm moving even faster. The heat and pressure in his belly were building to the point of him needing to hunch over.

Gordon tangled a hand into his partner’s hair and pulled. _“Gonna c-cum so deep in you- ugh, g-god,”_

His partner whimpered. 

_“Pump you full of it, mark your -hah-insides,”_

“yes, gordon,” his partner moaned. “do it, m-mark me, mmmmph, cum in me,”

Gordon growled and quickened his pace. Fucked him right into the mattress. Nothing but the sound of slapping skin and groans and pants and Barmey’s heavy breathing and the wet, slick sound of him tugging desperately at himself.

Gordon let out a rough, ugly sound and started humping into his partner as hard as he could, deep as he could go, the sound of sliding flesh growing sloppier.

“please,” his partner begged.

“please,” Barmey whimpered quietly.

Gordon hugged his partner around the middle and gripped him tight and came with a final, satisfied moan.His hips continued to press inside in short bursts. 

He slumped against him, boneless. Barmey felt rising frustration. His own movement slowed to a crawl. _So close._

Benrey slapped at his arm. “get off me,” he grunted. Gordon huffed and attempted to roll them onto their sides. 

“mm, no…” He crossed his legs around Gordon’s waist and rolled them until he had him flat on his back. 

“Careful,” Feetman whined. 

Benrey shushed him and stroked his palms down his chest and belly. He leaned back and started to grind down against Feetman’s hips. 

“ _so_ big,” he panted, taking himself in hand. 

Barmey felt a renewed twitch of interest and started to stroke himself faster.

“your knot, it’s -ugh- pressing….hard, so against my mmmphfuckin’ walls,” he continued. He stopped to reach behind himself, hand coming back wet with- Barmey let out a shuddery breath- with the _cum_ that’s been leaking out of him? 

“grinding like this, really, hah,” he quickened the pace of his strokes. So did Barmey. “hits the ssssspot.” His speech dissolved into breathless pants, chest heaving, belly rolling. 

Feetman whined again. “Benrey…” his hands came up to stroke at the tops of Benrey’s thighs.

“yeah?” he breathed, licking at his bottom lip. Barmey unconsciously found himself doing the same.

“C’mere...need to lick…”

“need to -hah- lick me up?” Benrey’s hips moved a little faster. So did his hand. Feetman was pawing eagerly at whatever he could reach now. “lil puppy kisses?”

“Ugh,” Feetman’s hips arched up into him, once. “ God, so _tight.”_ Barmey tightened his own grip. _“_ Y-yeah…” 

Benrey shiften forward as much as he could. “why’s that?” he breathed, voice suddenly deepening.

Feetman cried his name again. Barmey could feel his thighs tremble and his eyes begin to cross.

“gordon…” Benrey panted, some of the lilt returning to his voice. He licked at the points of his teeth. Barmey couldn’t breathe. He was jerking so fast it was an utter miracle they hadn’t heard it. 

“ _my_ good boy,” he cooed lowly. Feetman whimpered and nodded, tail thumping weakly.

Benrey turned his head and stared directly at Barmey through the closet slats. _Mine,_ he mouthed. 

Barmey gave a fully body shudder and saw white as he came into his own hand, gasping for air like a fish on a hook. 

He could hear Benrey moan in a fuzzy, distant sort of way. When he came to, the couple was laying on their sides again. Feetman was licking at Benrey’s face and hair and neck.

“So chatty this time,” Feetman yawned. 

“mhm,” Benrey sighed. Barmey could hear the mattress shift. “snuggle time,” he said in the softest voice Barmey’d ever heard. He idly stroked at the fur of one of Feetman’s ears.

Barmey looked around for a random piece of clothing to wipe his hand off with. Once that’d been taken care of, he pulled his shorts back up and eased his ass down onto the closet floor. He felt strangely empty. Must be the beginnings of some good old post-nut clarity. Guess he’d just...wait for them to sleep? Go shower?

“uhhh, sorry, i forget,” he heard Benrey murmur. “how long’ll we be tied together until yo knot goes down?”

“Seriously?” Feetman grumbled sleepily. “I dunno, uh...45 minutes or sumthin?”

“tight. and i don’t sleep, obviously.”

“....Benrey, what’re you-”

“shhhhh shhhhh shhhhh. sleepy time~”

Barmey leaned his forehead against the closet door with a thunk and closed his eyes. Great. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all it'll say now is 'cuck, cuck.' Heheheh.
> 
> Next chapter will take us back to Casa de Freeman. But never fear, this is hardly the last we'll see of Barney House!


	8. Freemancest Cross-Species Cohabitation (Feetman/Freemind, Feetman/Freeman)

PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT ARCHIVES 

  
  


Responses to the anonymous reviewers of _"Attenuation of higher cognitive processes by physiological aspects of feline like sexual aggression"_

Reviewer 1: 

_While the premise of this paper is intriguing, the field notes should not be in the main body of work. Standard structural guidelines for experimental papers still apply, even in unique cases such as this._

Response: We thank the reviewer for these remarks. Only experiments will be within the main body of work 

_You bury the lede by not mentioning new case study FT until the end. I recommend either not mentioning the case study for RABV-MCP-20 at all and saving it for a separate paper, or dedicating as much space to studying this subject as you have for subject FM_

Response: We consider this to be an excellent point. Equal attention will be paid to both subjects 

_Not that I personally benefit from this at all, but I think it is important to cite Kleiner, I (1995) and Kleiner, I (2000), as they relate to the phenomenon of possible extra-dimensional submicroscopic infectious agents on human life forms._

Response: This is a good point. We will gladly cite these incredibly important works

_[Note to editor: My laboratory finds it necessary to study these supplemental tapes personally before making a final decision. But for the time being we recommend accepting this work, with minor revisions.]_

Response by editor: Sure. Why not! Please make sure to clean up any biohazardous fluids 'your laboratory' might spill onto the raw data

Reviewer 2: 

_This work is absolutely preposterous and a complete waste of my time. How can an author too ignorant of basic lit review as to not cite the expansive works of Maggusson, A (1980-present) be taken seriously at all? On another note, I seem to recall a similar set of experiments being conducted by Coomer et al 1994. In other words, this work has long been scooped. It is of no benefit to the broader scientific community._

Response: 

Great review. Of course, it was remiss of us to not consider citing these great works. 

First off, a body of work focused on the advancement of satellite technology might have, perhaps, had its own dedicated paragraph in the introduction. Unfortunate for the author to miss this. Considering that this virus might be of extra terrestrial origin, satellites surely must have had something to do with it. Keeping this in mind, we are more than willing to cite these works. 

You also mention that these experiments have been done before. Ostentatious as this request might be, we would very much like to see some proof of this. Under the present circumstances, we simply find it too hard to immediately believe. Regarding whether it offers use to the broader scientific field, we must also respectfully disagree. Since this paper contains much data on two completely novel viruses, I believe that even scientists in fields unrelated to immunology or microbiology (such as myself) would find this fascinating. Especially when symptoms dramatically change human physiology, cognition, and behavior. Likewise, rate of contagion is also currently unknown, making knowledge of this disease important for the population at large. Finally, I beg you to reconsider your outright rejection of this work, or at the very least, provide more extensive reasoning for its rejection.

[ _Note to editor:_ _Why is a purported theoretical physicist conducting behavioral experiments if he has no prior training in the field? Just from glancing over the methods section alone I can tell he had no idea what he was doing. I couldn’t even be bothered to finish it. Complete waste of my time. I do NOT recommend accepting this work.]_

PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT ARCHIVES 

Dr. Freeman, 

Unfortunately, Communications in Extraterrestrial Microbiology cannot accept this body of work. However, you are free to submit future works for consideration, provided that you continue to pay the $150 submission fee, the $600 yearly membership fee and the $250 psychological assessment fee 

[Name redacted] 

Journal editor 

Nature Conglomerate

Bethesda, MD, 20899  
  


PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT ARCHIVES

"Attenuation of high cognitive processes and behavioral learning mechanisms by feline- or canine-like gonadal hormones" by Dr. Gordon Freeman, PhD

 **Abstract:** There is a wide range of observed behavioral interactions between cat (felix catus) and dog (canis familiaris), from friendly to outright antagonistic [1,2,3]. Factors such as prey drive, individual temperament and territoriality often play the largest roles [4]. However, it has been long established that unwanted behaviors can be modified via classical and operant conditioning methods [5,6,7,8]. In this study, I utilized several basic conditioning mechanisms in order to attenuate hostile or otherwise unsavory interaction between two unique case study subjects: one infected with SARS-PAC-19 (FM) and one infected with RABV-MCP-20 (FT). Data was collected via video recording, audio recording, and handwritten observational notes. It was found that behavior could be significantly modified, but that the influence of gonadal hormones inhibited the learning process.

 **Introduction:** Through a unique turn of events, the novel virus SARS (Severe Acute Risque Subtype) -PAC (Puer Ancilla Cattus)-19 (ie, “Maid Catboy Disease”) currently hosted within the singular case study subject FM (male, 27 yo) appears to have mutated when contracted by case study FT (male, 27 yo). The mutated virus, RABV (Raucous Aggressive Behavior Version)- MCP (Magna Canis Puer)- 20, has been colloquially termed "Dogboy Disease". Symptoms include spontaneous growth of dog ears and tail, heightened olfactory sensitivity, and increased demonstration of dog-like behavior. As of day 30, symptoms have not abated. Both viruses appear to have affected subjects' cognition as well, leading to behavioral interactions typically observed in feral cats and badly trained dogs. Incidentally, confounding variable BB (male, ??? yo), who was present during the initial onset of FT's illness, might have played a contributing factor in FT's increased aggression and territoriality. Although BB is currently not on the premises, constant social interaction between him and the subject might have lasted for up to 25 days.

Most recent developments observed in social interaction between FM and FT are as follows:

 _Territorial marking:_ Male dogs and male cats have a heightened propensity towards scent markings via urinary emissions due to higher testosterone levels [7]. This particular behavioral aspect appears to have carried over into our human subjects. Subject FM has demonstrated this behavior in the past [9], but previous demonstrations were due to unshakable instinct during a season of heightened arousal. In this case, urination is entirely purposeful, by full admission of both guilty parties. It is possible to stop this behavior for an extended period of time merely by spraying a 1:40 dilution of capsaicin directly into a subject’s facial area. However, it is likely that this method will not be completely preventative. 

_Physical fighting (pouncing, biting, clawing, wrestling) over "disputed" territories._ Besides for FM and FT's respective bedrooms, all other areas of the house were apparently 'up for grabs' during initial cohabitation. This most notably led to the investigator having to fortify entry points to his own bedroom. While the house was eventually divided up based on frequency of use in given location, some disputed areas remain. These include the living room couch, the kitchen, the back porch, certain pet toys, and most unfortunately- the investigator himself. Besides for direct confrontation, there are frequent episodes of non-urinary scent marking (rubbing of glands by FM, licking by FT). It also appears that neither subject can intelligently articulate why they cannot reasonably discuss this problem at a more "human" level, despite frequent assurances that they retain full use of their mental capacities. All current evidence, however, would suggest otherwise.

 _Dominant humping_. As discussed in a previous, unpublished paper [9] one possible reason for increased sexual behavior toward housemates might be to gain dominance. At the time, evidence for this being FM's primary motivation proved for the contrary, as he was willing to engage sexually while in the submissive role. However, when it comes to similar sexual engagement between FM and FT, dominance is clearly the end goal. While no penetration, or indeed ejaculation, has occurred (to this investigator's knowledge), at least 55% of the above mentioned fights ends with the victor rutting against the loser's body part or article of clothing. What's more, the loser will often take personal offense to this, and will thus seek to engage in further challenges in order to, in his mind, regain his dominant role. 

Thus, a clear and present approach toward extreme behavioral modification is clearly needed. In the following experiments, I test whether the ideal techniques and scheduling of training previously observed in other lesser animals (eg, variable ratio reward) adequately apply to case study subjects FM and FT. If not, I will then test which techniques might be better applicable.

**Experiment 1A**

**Method:** Positive reinforcement is an excellent way to increase a target behavior, moreso than punishment [10,11]. However, there remains the question as to what that reward might be, given the amount of endorphins released during sexual dominance displays. Therefore, it is most logical to get both subjects into a state of calm, and then reinforce this state of being with reward. This is easily achievable by administering catnip to FM. There were too many still unknown variables surrounding FT, but after some trial and error, it appears that using a ‘calming coat’ (swaddling) works best. Mild doses of ketamine were also administered to each subject (.5 mgs/kg). 40 minutes after administration, subjects were both placed within the vicinity of a “disputed” item; the couch. Ketamine is a proven mood booster as well [12], so it is possible that the calm and the positive feelings will be mutually reinforcers for not fighting over the couch area. But to better ensure that a comparable amount of endorphins were released, pets were administered to both parties for 30 minutes. After the 30 minute petting trial, subjects were free to do as they wished. There were 5 trials in total, with one trial per day. 

**Results/Discussion:** There was a marked decrease in fighting after 5 trials had been completed. Subjects' moods are calmer in general, though that might admittedly be due to the ketamine. One interesting detail of note is that while aggression did decrease after each session, sexual engagement did not. [see supplemental]. 

**Supplemental 1A:**

_Video transcript of Day 5, beginning at time stamp 34:04:11_

Subject FM and FT are lying on the couch. FT is on his back, while FM lies half- draped on top of him. FM is licking (grooming?) FT's arm hair. FT is in turn using his other hand to scritch at the back of FM's head. Low purring can be heard. FT suddenly raises himself up and licks at FM's face and neck. FM's ears go back and he makes a disgruntled sound. 

FM: Cut it out! Gross! 

He pushes FT away. FT whines at that, then yawns.

FT: Sorry man, it's uh- [he yawns again] instinct. And you're literally doing the same thing

FM: That's _grooming_. Do you see me getting slobber everywhere? 

FT leans in and licks a stripe up his face, tail wagging a little. FM bats at him.

FM: Asshole! [No real heat to it. His tail twitches]. If you're so intent on licking me, at least do it somewhere more enjoyable...

FT perks his ears and cocks his head, staring at FM intently. FM's tail swishes violently. He looks away. 

FM: A joke. It was a joke. You remember what a joke is, d- HEY! 

FT pushes FM back onto his butt. In an effort to balance himself, FM's legs become somewhat splayed. FT takes advantage of this and sticks his head under FM's skirt, tail wagging at full tempo 

FM: What are you do- oooh _shit._

FM leans back onto his elbows. FT's entire head and shoulders are now hidden by the skirt. Licking noises can be heard. FM's tail starts to stiffen. 

FM: Hmpph- oh my G-god you're fuckin- voracious, hah. D-drools gonna- ruin the fabri--ic 

FT growls. He adjusts himself to lie flush against the couch cushion. His head moves faster.

FM places a hand over the outline of FT's head. He squirms and moans, feet kicking out, hip gyrating up toward FT’s face. This continues until completion, wherein FM's body stiffens up and he grabs at FT's head with both hands. He slumps back against the couch afterward. 

FT, has been shamelessly grinding against the cushion, and as FM reaches completion the tempo of his rutting increases significantly. The investigator, at this point, realizes he's about to be out another couch cover and steps into frame to shoo him off. 

[End transcript]

It is extremely curious that FT would almost immediately be willing to orally stimulate his companion at the slightest of prompts. When asked, FT could not give a better answer besides that fact that he was “super chilled out” and that “something about that situation reminded him of- uh- other situations.” He refused to elaborate, and insisted on taking a very long walk around the neighborhood thereafter.*

*For further reference on how to ideally walk a dogboy around a HOA-affiliated suburban neighborhood, see Experiments 2a-2b.

**Experiment 1B**

The interview with FT, while objectively lacking in concrete information, brought to mind the idea of Pavlov’s dog- that is, the idea of classical conditioning [12]. Perhaps one of FM’s actions or words had acted as the “bell”, and FT’s oral stimulation was akin to the trained salivation response. A side effect of living with BB, perhaps? In any case, I found it prudent to try and isolate what that conditional cue might actually be. 

**Method:** The stimuli present during the oral sex incident by FT onto FM (see Supplemental 1A) were isolated and presented to FT individually. Stimuli were as follows: body affect (ketamine .2mgs/kg), contextual stimulus (couch), social interaction (peer lying prone on top of him), general context (living room lighting, scent, ect) stressful stimulus (being videotaped, being close to subject of rival stature), auditory cue (request to lick “somewhere more enjoyable”, ie, an erogenous zone). 

Unfortunately, FT’s previous experience with FM would make FM a confounding variable. Thus, the investigator acted as the target instead. For trials where FM might have acted as a direct cue, the investigator was equipped with an article of FM’s used clothing. [Investigator’s note: one singular clothing article. Not an entire outfit. Standard lab wear otherwise]. Response measured by volume of saliva, number of tongue licking movements, and frequency of advancements onto target, if such a thing were to occur. For non-stress stimulus trials, no video recording equipment was present, and audio was only recorded with the subject’s explicit permission or request. 

**Results/Discussion:** Body affect, auditory cue, and social interaction all yielded significant licking conditional response. Interestingly, FT responded most to more antagonistic social interaction, as opposed to a peer lying next to him. This is more extensively highlighted in the supplemental below: 

**Supplemental 1B:**

[Notes and audio transcript for Trial 5 of Experiment 1B]

Date is [Redacted], time approximately 18:30:00. For Trial 5 of Experiment 1b, I will attempt to elicit the conditional response by presenting Stimulus E: social interaction. Brief physical exam of subject FT shows nothing of note, seems to be in good health. I have already equipped myself with subject FM’s article of clothing to provide proper scent stimulus. 

Subject has approached and is requesting an audio statement.

_Audio transcript:_

[various shuffling noises]

FT: Hello? Is it on- ok, great. It’s on. Uhhh, hello everybody. 

[pause] 

Oh, this is just for you? Like your no- 

[pause]

Well then what’s the point of me- 

[brief pause].

Wow. Wow, man. Is the- all that attitude necessary?

[brief pause]

Yeah? Sure thing. Okay, just for your super cool notes, then. This is. How can I put this? [smacks lips]. Really fucking stupid. Like- okay, [adopts country twang] I know I might just be a simple farm boy theoretical physicist, but- wh. What do you mean that’s a hack bit? It’s not hack. It is NOT hack. Hey, don’t-

[various shuffling noises] 

Oh my god, he’s trying to take it from me! [giggling]. What’s your problem?

[light panting and tail thumping can be heard]. 

Yeah? What’re you gonna do? I’m- oop, I’m holding it up

[voice gets distant sounding]

I’m holding it higher than you can reach, apparently. [Punching sound. Grunt of pain] Auughh!

[Various clattering noises. Assumedly, this is when the tape recorder hit the floor.] 

[End transcript].

Subject has childishly decided to play keep away with experimental equipment. He has become excitable in the resulting fray. Currently bouncing around with wagging tail and panting the way any dumb, energetic dog might. He is now trying to pounce on top of me to play, so I think I’ll have to

_Audio transcript cont._

[Sound of loud panting, low growling, cloth shuffling]

FT: How’s that? Huh, punk? [growl] Can’t take notes now, can y- [yipping noise]. 

[Noise of a struggle] 

Augh! [Redacted]’s down! [Redacted]’s- hurtin’, a little bit.

[loud sniffing noise]. 

Hey, what the fuck? You like this? [Huff] Holy shit, I can’t believe [Redacted] was telling the truth, man! 

[tail thumping]

C’mere, then [quietly]. Shuffle your knees up. You want to observe a- what’d you call it? Conditioned response? 

[pause]

Yes, you can sample the saliva or...whatever....[annoyed]

[Sound of belt clinking, clothes shuffling]

[Sound of loud dog panting]

FT: Are you wearing-

Investigator: Shh!

FT: Mmph!

[Sound of licking against wet, organic object. A loud intake of breath.]

[Sound of low growl]

[Moaning]

Investigator: [indecipherable]

[sound of licking stops.]

FT: Huh? You want me to [pause] your hands are shaking too much. 

Investigator: [frustrated noise]. Stick. Your. Tongue: Out. Flat. [low, measured]

FT: Hah? Ohungh…

[Slick, wet sound resumes] 

FT: [groans]

Investigator: T--ake it [panting] Only. Mmgph. G-gooddogsss. Get. Trea-ts. [low, measured].

FT: [long, high whine]

_[Archivist's note: rest of audio transcript data expunged by request of high-ranking administrator due to ‘inappropriate, unprofessional content’.]_

[End transcript]

Based on observed behavioral data regarding subject enthusiasm, as well as measured volume of salivation, it would appear that antagonism elicits the strongest conditional response. Will try to clarify with subject FT during the post-experiment interview. Right now. Sleep. 


	9. Barney House, pt 4: Wag the Dog (Feetman/Benrey/Barmey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear, we are going back in time again to pick up where we left off last Barney House!

All dogs do _not_ go to heaven. Feetman knows this now, because he is almost certainly in hell.

He doesn’t know when it originated. Was the seed planted the first time Benrey told him “good sit”, low and wry and teasing? Did roots start burrowing under his skin when Feetman started marking Benrey, inside and out, all for the heart-squeezing privilege of being called “mine” in the afterglow by the man with the eyes of a hungry shark? Why did you let him keep doing that, dumbass? What did you _expect_ to happen? 

No- he could answer that pretty easily. What his idiot past self had _expected_ to happen was for the pattern of insult-wind-up and rough-sex-wind-down to continue _ad nausiam._ Like a horny, hateful snake eating its own tail. But nothing about any of his entanglements with Benrey have ever been _simple._ It’s his own fault for thinking that adding mindless fucking into the equation would make it exceptional. 

But enough whining about it all ‘woe is me’ like a little bitch. Moron. Anxious wreck. Direct and straight to the point, is what a scientist should be. Would either of his doubles be waffling about it this much? _Probably_ not. 

So, the new problem is this: Feetman _wants_ to listen to Benrey. Wants to sit good and stay good and whatever else dumb commands might be sought. Fights the urge to lay his head down in Benrey’s lap and look up at him balefully during their scant peaceful moments. Fantasizes about ripping out the throats of whoever dared tried to harm his- his _Benrey,_ and wants to die every single time such a thought occurs. He can barely eat. Sheer exhaustion is the only thing knocking him into sleep these days. He feels absolutely _sick_ , out of his mind worse than during the actual fever.

God- why the fuck didn’t he take this whole dogboy disease more seriously?! He knew first hand that newfound feline instinct could reduce Freemind to a purring mess. Should’ve been more worried. So caught up in having fun from the freeing effects that he forgot to account for the biggest downside of dog-brain of them all.

Just now, see, it’s near dawn. Feetman’s been hanging out in the living room with Barney, watching his ‘soaps’. Barney swears it’s because there’s nothing better on at this hour. Feetman is nice enough to not point out that Netflix is, like, a thing. 

He hears steady, lumbering footsteps approaching the porch. Feetman’s ears perk up, and his tail slowly starts to wag. Can’t help it. The knob of the front door turns. Feetman’s tail goes fast, his tongue lolls out, he jumps to his feet in excitement and runs to greet Benrey right as he enters the foyer. Needs to lick his face and sniff his scent to see where he’s been. Usually just smells like he’s been around the property, but still.

Can’t help it. 

Pathetic.

Benrey, to his credit, _could_ act worse about it. Which is to say, he basically accepts it all with his usual “what? woah” and scratches Feetman’s head with a wry grin and just the slightest glint of mockery in his eyes. 

But a guy who can phase through walls and fucking _teleport_ doesn’t need to walk through the front door in the first place. Part of Feetman wonders if he’s doing it as a bit, a daily prank to pull out a reaction he knows Feetman hates to show. Another part of him wonders if, well- maybe it’s _not_ a bit. That he genuinely enjoys to be greeted by an enthusiastic Feetman at the door. But that second part’s analysis makes him feel like he’s swallowed burrs. A ripping pain from his throat to the bottom of his stomach. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure whether he cares to find out. (Coward). At this point, he knows to spit that sort of thought out soon as he feels its sharp little hooks on his tongue. 

Regardless- Benrey entering the house has become the equivalent of the starting bell. The green light. The single shot of a gun into the air. 

A subtle game. Subtle for the two of them, anyway. Benrey pushes. Feetman pulls. 

This morning, they go out back to the south field. Part of Feetman’s daily lap around the property for inspection’s sake. Arguing about the dumbest shit imaginable just to find excuses to jostle one another. 

“yo. check it.” Benrey says lowly. He pulls a ball out of thin air. That sort of thing never fails to make Feetman’s eyes pop, if only because the underlying physics makes him dizzy. He doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s fucking magic.

“What? What about it?” he answers shortly. He already knows.

Benrey pulls his arm back and throws the ball across the field in one powerful motion. Feetman can see the lines of movement in Benrey’s biceps through his jacket. It’s almost hypnotic. He shivers.

“go fetch,” Benrey says, clicking the last syllable. He looks at Feetman, wide eyed and expectant.

Feetman snorts, even as he consciously tracks the ball’s movement through the air.

“Not happening.”

“well why not?” Benrey pushes petulantly. “why you gotta- you’re a dog, aincha?”

Feetman feels his ears lower. He grasps Benrey’s shoulder. “You know it’s more complex,” he says, forcing down the growl in his throat. “You KNOW it’s more complex than that, Benrey. I’m not a fucking- mindless animal, or whatever.” 

Benrey stares back up at him boredly. 

“You get it?” Feetman prods. “You get what I mean?”

Benrey raises a hand up and twists it in a motion similar to that of a second-rate magician. Another ball appears. He throws it past Feetman’s shoulder, hard enough for him to hear a _woosh_ as it zips by his ear. Feetman forces himself to not turn around.

“fetch?” Benrey asks.

Feetman groans and lets go. “I don’t know why I bother. Let’s just head back to the house.”

Benrey licks his lips and summons (?) another ball. “just look,” he insists. He throws. Feetman watches it arc through the air, despite his best efforts. His tail starts to wag. His legs feel jittery. He wants...okay, he _really_ wants to chase it down. Proudly trot back to Benrey with it resting between his teeth. Maybe growl a little playfully and play keep-away if Benrey tries to take it from him. 

He can’t, though. Not if Benrey tells him to. Not if _anyone_ is giving him a command. The most he can do is watch it fall to the ground in silence.

“what’s the matter?” Benrey drawls from beside him. “wanna get it, doncha?”

Feetman grits his teeth. “ _No._ ” he says forcefully. 

“wanna uh...hunt it?”

Feetman barks out a laugh despite his best efforts. “ _Hunt?_ You don’t hunt balls, Benrey.”

“yah huh,” he insists sulkily. “i’ve hunted more ‘n you.”

There’s a pause. A shift of clothing. Another ball flies through the air. Feetman stares at it intently. He can see where it fell. He can go- he could run to it, right now. He is aware that his body has tensed up so hard he’s practically trembling. Want the ball. Wanna get the ball.

“yeah? wanna get the ball?” Benrey coos. 

“W-What the fuck?” Feetman whirls around on him, heart hammering in panic. “Can you-”

Benrey’s brows furrow. “wuh?”

Feetman turns back toward the field. “Nothing. Nevermind,” he says distractly. His eyes are back to being trained on the spot he knows the ball landed.

He feels a single, firm stroke of a flat palm from base of his neck down to his lower back. A pet. 

“be good for benny? yes?” Benrey continues his cooing, laced with a tinge of ever-present mockery.

Feetman lets out a quiet whine despite his best effort. He sort of- no. He _definitely_ does want to be good for him.

Benrey pushes at his back. “go fetch, boy!”

Feetman takes off running without another thought. For a few delicate moments, his misgivings take the back seat. All that matters is getting the ball, and bringing it back to Benrey, because Benrey told him to, and it makes him so _happy_ when Feetman listens to him. It’s all he wants. A softer sort of smile. A pat on the head. A word of genuine praise from something that is very likely too inhuman and malicious to view him as anything more than a favorite toy.

Pathetic. 

Feetman winds himself up so tight on the journey back that he doesn’t even bother with the keep-away game. Just sourly spits the ball out at Benrey’s feet, pushes him down, and face fucks him right there on the brittle grass.

\--

Benrey is the first contributor to his personal hell. The second one runs into them on the back porch.

“buenos dias, bitchboy,” Barmey greets him cheerfully, just as he had for the past couple of days. From the smell of him (oil, gun powder, excitement) he’d just come back from the range. 

“...Don’t-” Feetman starts. It’s all he has time to say before Barmey attempts to dole out his usual slap on a part of his back that _apparently_ didn’t count as the ass. (The final vote tally being Barmey and Benrey deeming it ‘not the ass’, Feetman insisting it was in fact ‘ass’, and Barney deciding on ‘not this shit again’). Feetman successfully evades it. _This_ time. 

Barmey groans dramatically. “don’t bitch out, man.” 

“yeah, bro. why you bitching out?” Benrey adds. He’s always so quick to back Barmey up. Never takes Feetman’s side. Never wants to give him a break.

Fucking... _Barmey._ Gone were the days of avoidance and leaving Feetman the hell alone. He’d thought being wracked with guilt every time the other guy avoided eye contact was bad. In retrospect, that shit had literally been a vacation. Some flip had been switched to make him want to make up for lost time. And it’s ramping up, too. It started out with Barmey saying his usual variety of dumb shit and yanking his tail to get his attention. But now it was getting to the point of him going into lurid detail about all the sex he has with his long distance girlfriend (who _totally_ exists in real life) whenever she comes to visit. At the fucking _breakfast table._ Barney had whacked him over the head with a wooden spoon before it had gotten too nauseating to keep eating, but still. 

Feetman can’t even confront him as violently as he’d like, because-

“ooh, he’s growling!” Barmey says, mockingly blocking his head with his arms. “uh oh.” 

“”I’m not?” He wasn’t.

“you were gonna. lip was raised.”

“oh, shit,” Benrey piles on. “we gonna have to bring the muzzle out. shock collar, maybe. back alley nintendogs.” From the excited look on his face, he very well may not be joking.

_-because_ , in his heart of hearts, Feetman fears that if Benrey _really_ got that idea into his head, no amount of pleading or sexual distraction would stop him. It’s hard to tell how serious he is about these things on the best of days. Even the most pampered lapdog gets put down if it bites hard enough, after all. And he... _doesn’t_ think he’s in danger of _that._

But in his heart of hearts, pigeonholed right next to that fear, is the sickening knowledge that if the roles were reversed- if he had this much power over _Benrey_ \- what would he do with it? With all the tangles and deep rot threatening to boil over inside of him these days, would _he_ stop at a simple fucking muzzle?

It’s impossible to plot the course of ‘could have beens’, but after chewing on this particularly bitter piece of ‘what if’, here’s what he knows for certain: Feetman might not be the worst Gordon Freeman. But he’s no longer sure if that makes him a good man. 

And he’s _pretty_ sure as hell that Benrey isn’t. Sure enough to consciously lower his lip, and wag his tail a little. If it earns a sideways glance and a small frown, it’s all that more proof that Feetman won this round. 

“is ‘bitchboy’ the right thing to engrave on his collar, do you think?” Barmey asks Benrey loudly as they enter the house. “or something more fitting, like uh…’dickwad.’” 

Feetman stops walking and consciously starts counting down from 10. He will not bite. He will _not_ bite. 

“hm…” Benrey replies, as if seriously considering it. 

“Not happening.” Feetman says flatly. “I’m not wearing a collar.”

“shh- go away,” Barmey shoos. “why the hell should your opinion count, anyway? last i checked we don’t ask the dog’s permission, rofl fucking mao.”

“W-” Feetman stutters. “Why does _your_ opinion count, then? I’m not _your_ dog!” He regrets the proclamation as soon as it leaves his mouth. “I mean-”

“that’s right. _my_ dog,” Benrey says a tad roughly, elbowing Barmey in the ribs hard enough to make him wince.

Feetman rounds on him, heart beating wildly in his chest. “Oh, my God. I’m not _your_ dog either, jackass!” 

“huh? sure yah are.” Benrey replies,crossing his arms severely. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Birds fly, the sky is blue, Feetman’s owned like a fucking pet. 

Feetman growls for real this time and stalks up into his space. There’s no playful edge to it. This isn’t a horny promissory note. _“Benrey…”_

“i don’t even care, for the record,” Barmey cuts in from between them, apparently too obtuse to notice their current standoff. “dogs are total weaksauce. hit me up when we bag a cute anime catgirl maid or something.”

You might as well have hit Feetman over the head with a giant cartoon anvil. “What,” he wheezes. 

He backs away from the both of them, eyes darting wildly. Did he- no. No way. Barmey wouldn’t _hint_ about that sort of thing if he actually knew Freemind’s situation. _Still,_ it was disorienting enough to knock him off balance. His head was filled with too much static for him to land any sort of recovery. They’re both looking at him so strangely now. They _know_ he’s being weird. How is he going to-

“Barmey, keep yer stupid hentai preferences to yourself!” Barney calls from the next room over.

From the way Benrey and Barmey’s eyes light up, you’d think they’d been told the PS6 had dropped. 

“oh?” Barmey says gleefully, already starting to stalk over. “how do _you_ know what hentai is, mr. stick in his ass?”

Benrey’s probing gaze slides away from Feetman. He cocks his head. When Barney fails to reply, he starts to drift away after Barmey. “answer the question, please? you uh... guilty of manga fap crimes?” 

Feetman nearly collapses where he stands. Thank _fucking_ God for Barney’s self-ownage. His hands are shaking, Jesus. This is getting to be too much at once. He needs a nap.

_\--_

He wakes to the sound of video game fight sounds, Benrey’s low-voiced trash talking, and-

“bro, why don’t you just gargle my entire sack at this rate.”

Barmey.

Feetman shuts his eyes tight and turns over to face the wall with a groan.

“oh, you awake? wakeup time for puppy feetman?” Benrey drawls.

“haha, yeah. puppy guy quit lying around?” 

Feetman’s eyes snap open again. He glares a hole into the wall in front of him. Not one moment of peace these days.

“are you _actually_ pretending to be asleep? _so_ lame. here, i’ll…” 

The sound of gameplay stops. There’s the shifting sound of clothes, and Barmey’s scent grows stronger. Feetman stiffens. If Barmey grabs at his tail _one more time,_ it’s over. Forget the stupid dog training mindgames, Feetman might genuinely be looking at murder charges at this point. He’ll just have to... _calmly_ grab Barmey’s arm to intercept him. Yeah. Grab his arm, then twist it behind his back, then shove him to the floor, then

“you bothering my dog, dude?” Benrey asks tonelessly. “he’s growling somethin fierce.” 

_‘My dog.’ Mine, mine, mine._ A pinprick irritation in bed, and knife through his back out of it. Feetman wishes he’d give it a rest, if only for the sake of the knots in his stomach. 

...He also realizes that he is, indeed, growling. Shit. He chances a peek over his shoulder to gauge Benrey’s reaction, but unfortunately his face is still turned toward the screen. 

Barmey raises his hands up in a helpless gesture. “well don’t look at me, i didn’t do nothin”

Benrey doesn’t turn around. 

“if you didn’t bother him, why’d he growl?”

There’s a certain lilt to his voice. An interrogative tone Feetman can’t recall him using on Barmey before.

“whu-” seems even Barmey’s thrown by it. “because he’s a bad dog, _obviously._ ” 

There is an ominous beat of silence.

“pretty ruda you to say that.” Benrey sighs and rises to his feet. “pretty uh- mean to insult me.”

Barmey laughs nervously. High pitched. Feetman turns and sits up, ears perked. He doesn’t even need a heightened sense of smell to know that there’s blood in the water.

“what the fuck? no. i’m just saying-”

“you called him? bad?” Benrey finally turns to face them and _oh,_ it’d been a while since Feetman’s seen _that_ look. The I-think-I’m-a-cop look. The ‘you’re not supposed to be here’ look. 

Barmey’s perceptive enough to sense a major change in the mood of the room, and dumb enough to stand his ground. “yeah,” he says, tilting his chin and puffing his chest out. “so what?”

Benrey shakes his head slowly. His eyes stay tracked on Barmey. “no such thing,” he says quietly. “uh, cesar millan. bad owners only.”

“uh…”

Benrey takes a deliberate step toward him. “you callin’ me a bad owner, bro?” he asks softly.

A familiar scent’s starting to waft from Barmey. It takes a moment for Feetman to place it- usually only came from rabbits and squirrels. _Fear._ Drool begins to pool in his mouth.

“um, _no_ , i,” Barmey stutters. He glances over at Feetman nervously. Feetman smiles at him wide enough to show his teeth. His tail thumps against the bed. “i mean-” he turns back to look at Benrey and pauses. Takes a breath. “if the shoe fuckin’ fits, i...i dunno.” He finishes lamely.

Benrey lets out a sigh, as if seriously disappointed. “hurts,” he mumbles. 

Barmey visibly winces as Benrey starts to come toward him again, but to both his and Feetman’s surprise, he breezes right past to sit on the bed next to Feetman. He scratches at one of Feetman’s ears idly. 

“what’d i ever do to you, man?”

His overall vibe’s shifted slightly to the left. From napping tiger to something hungry crouched in the grass. 

Barmey’s eyes dart to the door and back. He might have been successful in his subsequent rush towards it too, if he hadn’t been dumb enough to telegraph his planned action so obviously first. But as he turns and starts to run, Benrey lets go of Feetman’s ear and makes a sort of clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth. He’s never told Feetman what the hell that was supposed to mean before all this, but Feetman’s seen enough action movies that feature a crime boss with a big, mean dog to guess. 

He bounds over to the door and blocks Barmey from getting past. “Going somewhere?” he growls, half crouching and tail wagging something fierce.

Barmey stumbles to a halt, eyes widening. He looks wildly back and forth between Feetman at the door and Benrey on the bed. Desperate prey, caught between a rock and a hard place.

“don’t run- uh, no running in my room, please?” 

“dude,” Barmey starts. “you can’t just-”

“huh?” Benrey interrupts. Feetman snickers.

“oh come _on,_ you’re the one who-”

“what?” Benrey tilts his head and leans back on his hands, eyes lidded. 

Barmey makes an angry noise and even goes as far as to stomp his foot like an actual toddler. Feetman fights to keep a straight face. 

“so what, i can’t even defend myself, asshole? you know, it’s” he breaks off to laugh again, “ _so_ funny how you think this can work on me like i didn’t _also_ work security and don’t _also_ know what you’re-”

Benrey makes another clicking noise. Feetman chooses to believe it’s his signal to lunge. Fucker deserved it regardless. He collides with Barmey like he was born to be a doggy missile and has him sprawled out on the floor in no time. Shoulders pinned in spite of all the squirming.

Benrey clears his throat and leans forward to stare down at them. “standard procedure for uh, suspicious person evading capture,” he intones, flat enough to might as well be reading directly from the handbook. “pepperidge farm ‘members.”

Barmey presses his palms flat against the floor. Tries- and fails- to lift himself up. 

“What’re you doing there, buddy?” Feetman snickers. He’s enjoying this to the point of panting, and if a couple of drops of drool fall onto Barmey’s neck- so be it. ”You can’t get up with me on top of you.”

Barmey turns his head sideways as much as he’s able. His face is rapidly flushing bright red.

“---” he wheezes.

Oh. Guess it’s different when the other person actually needs to breathe. Whoops! Feetman slides his knees off of Barmey’s back and pins them against his sides.

“what?” Benrey askes over the subsequent coughing.

“proving- me right-” Barmey manages to get out.

“no, i’m not,” Benrey retorts. “watch.” 

He gestures for Feetman to get off of him. Feetman glares back. What? No way, dude. No way he’s letting his prey go. But after an uncomfortable staredown with those cold, dark eyes Feetman whines and -reluctantly- does so. 

“see?” Benrey continues as Barmey shakily raises himself to his knees. “it’s the owner.” He flashes Barmey a grin of pointy teeth. “get it?” He ended the question with a click. Like the situation is still playful. 

Feetman feels his face flush at _owner._ There it is again. An unpleasant hook in his heart, attached to a line going taut. They’re _really_ going to need to have a conversation about the boundaries of pillowtalk outside of the bedroom once this latest game is finished. 

Barmey silently rubs at the back of his bright red neck. Shoots a quick glance back at Feetman waiting at the ready. Looks back up at Benrey. Feetman’s heart continues to painfully thud in his chest. He pushes the feeling down under his rapidly rising sense of heat. 

“nope,” Barmey finally spits, popping the p.

Benrey looks at Barmey like he’s a particularly dull student. He makes the clicking noise again. 

Barmey puts up a little resistance this time. Feetman growls in excitement. Fun. Sort of like rope tug of war. Or- or when he and Benrey wrestle. Yeah. Especially with that new scent coming up. He could just- here-

He wraps his arms around Barmey’s middle and clamps his teeth against the back of his neck. Locks them in a sort of kneeling position. Barmey freezes and titters nervously.

Benrey rises from the bed and comes to stand over them. It’s a little strange, seeing him towering over them. Benrey’s pretty short, and Feetman only on his knees, but the difference is still enough to be striking. 

“why’re you resisting, _friend?”_ Benrey lilts, sticking his hands into his pockets. 

Barmey lets out a whimper so high it causes Feetman to press his teeth in harder on instinct. “i’m not,” he weakly protests.

“you’re exciting the dog.” 

Feetman growls as if on cue. A new scent’s starting to drip through the fear. New and strangely familiar, sweet, musk, heat, Barmey, Benrey...He shuts his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by it, and presses his chest closer into Barmey’s back. 

“‘xcitin’ him big time,” he continues with a snicker. 

Feetman realizes with a jolt that he’d been grinding up against Barmey’s backside and freezes. Shit. It’s so similar to his and Benrey’s play-fighting that often devolves into foreplay. Not really his fault; it’s one of the only proven methods of shutting him up, ok? 

And the _scent,_ he can’t get over it. It isn’t even the same as the time on the crate. It smells _exactly_ like it does during sex half the time. Uncannily so. He raises his eyes to check, and yep- Benrey’s definitely getting hot for this. His choice to freeball it in sweatpants made it all the more obvious. 

Benrey notices the heat of his gaze and palms himself unabashedly with a sly grin. Then he reaches out with his bare foot and presses it right between Barmey’s legs. Barmey lets out a mix between a choke and a whine. Another burst of scent. 

“nice.”

Okay, so Barmey’s feeling it, too. It’s a mix of both their horny scents, then. But _why..._ whatever. Brain can’t think through it right now. Not with Benrey continuing to grind his foot into Barmey’s front. Made grinding into his back too hard to resist with these smells, and the _whimpering_ , and the heady success of _finally_ getting to shut him up.

“oh uhh. wait.” Benrey removes his foot to the sweet tune of Barmey’s frustrated groan. “forgot i had nuttin’ to do with this.”

“h-huh?” Barmey pants. He’s starting to sweat. Feetman can’t help giving a single long lick up his neck.

“you said it’s up to the dog, idiot.” he says boredly. 

Ah. Feetman gives a singular, hard thrust against his backside. Just, you know. As some sort of dominance display. Because he shouldn’t- this can’t end well. But. He feels hot, Barmey’s hot, the scent, the plush give of his ass against his aching dick, how good it’d feel, just like this, the annoying cringe, the dumbass antics, that _stupid_ fucking ‘buenos dias’ slap-

Barmey shudders so hard he practically vibrates against him. “i’m...mmph- not sayin’ sorry to no bitchboy,” he pants.

Feetman roughly pushes him down onto the floor and holds him there by the hair. Humps against him like a dog and revellels in the sounds of his halting moans. He leans down until his lips brushed the shell of Barmey ear. “Who’s the bitch now, _bitch?”_ he growls, punctuating his point with a harder thrust. 

“mmpn- gor- guh-” Barmey sobs, extending a desperate hand out in front of him like his eviler twin is his savior instead of the reason for his torment. “benrey, _please,_ ” he whines.

Feetman’s feeling sympathetic enough to slow the roll of his hips as much as he’s able. He lets go of Barmey’s head so he can look at Benrey. Feetman looks up to watch him as well. 

“huh?” Benrey taps his chin. “please _what_?”

They look at each other for a long moment. Finally, Barmey hangs his head down again. “please,” he repeats, quieter. He sniffles and doesn’t say any more than that.

“can’t help if you don’t say,” Benrey says with a careless shrug. Then, quieter, and in a higher, nasally pitch. “ _please_. heheh.” Sort of fucked up and mean of him, Feetman decides, even if it does make him wag harder. 

He takes that as his cue to continue Barmey’s torment and starts thrusting against the crack of his ass through his shorts. Long, slow thrusts. Yeah. Wasn’t it just the other day that Feetman had settled the _fifth_ fucking arguement about using reality-bending cheats in videogames with Benrey by pushing him over, yanking his shorts down, and pounding into him at this sort of steady, frustrating pace? He feels tension curl tight in his hips and ruts harder, snarling angrily just from the memory. 

“you’re lucky i’m not fucking your ass through the _floor_ ,” he growls.

Barmey starts to sob out little moans at each particularly hard thrust, smelling of excitement and arousal in equal parts. Allows himself to be pushed down until his cheek lays flat against the carpet. 

“ _yeah,_ barmey?” Benrey snickers.”you’re really gaggin’ for it, aincha?” 

“shut _u-u-u-p,”_ Barmey whines. 

“wanna foot?” he raises one of them above Barmey threateningly. 

“w- gross, no!” Barmey tries to move his head away as Benrey brings it closer. “i’m not into feet, bro!”

“sure ’bout that? ‘cause _i_ am,” Benrey says nonchalantly. “pretty sure you want me to step on you. pretty sure it’d turn your dick to diamonds.” 

He presses down against the side of Barmey’s face without waiting for an answer. Barmey makes a sound as if he’d been shot.

_Really_ mean, Feetman thinks in a daze. Makes him abandon his measured pace to start mindlessly grinding against him, panting, tongue out. Benrey smirks at him, red faced, and slips a hand underneath his own waistband. It’s easy to see the slow tug on his dick beneath the fabric. 

“yeah? lassie uh. treat time?” he rumbles, slowly inching the band of his pants down. He rocks his foot back and forth across Barmey’s head in tight like arcs. Feetman usually wouldn’t go so far as to call Benrey’s cock a _‘treat’_ , and if he so much as suggested it any other time Feetman would’ve laughed and told him to fuck off. But the idea of getting to it _right fucking_ now is a good one. All he can do is nod his head, tail going so fast it’s starting to make his back muscles ache. 

He roughly bucks against Barmey when his treat finally comes into view. Flushed and dripping and smelling musky enough to make his head spin. Barmey might have started to sob outright from the sound of it. An unending train of pathetic whimpering that just made. Him. Want to. Keep. Doing it. 

Benrey could only shift forward so far with one foot still propped up, so Feetman does the rest of the work leaning in. Benrey stops him as he reaches out for it.

“ah. dogs can’t- uh. use...hands,” he stutters. His monotone’s starting to crack to reveal some underlying strain. Feetman raises his hands up and, after a moment of deliberation, wraps them firmly around Barmey’s hips. Their current activities have caused his shirt to ride up enough for Feetman to get two handfuls of warm, plump flesh. 

He pushes his face forward and starts lapping at the tip. The resulting groans from Benrey makes him squeeze Barmey’s hips tighter. He could cum, just from this, the pressure continuing to build at the base of his own dick. His licks become longer, more exploratory. Just from getting Benrey to crack and making Barmey absolutely miserable. Though from the smell of it all, the man below him must be pretty close to finishing, himself, and- _how did he know that._ Something in the back of his mind tugs unpleasantly.

Benrey starts to shallowly thrust into his mouth. Bitterness hits his tongue. Brief snatches of memory, times when Benrey starts to _really_ get into it to the point of near-performance dance through his head. Any remaining blood rushes away from his head fast enough to make him dizzy.

He shakes his head away from the dick in front of him with a snarl and hunches over Barmey, rutting against him like a mindless animal in total frenzy. 

“oh, shit,” he hears Benrey breathe. He manages to tear his eyes up long enough to see Benrey looking positively enamored, watching Feetman come completely undone with rapt attention as he strokes at himself faster. “wanna cum, boy?”

Feetman whines. He doesn’t know if he could stop it at this point.

Benrey’s eyes drift downwards. “lick the bottom of my fuckin’ foot and i’ll let him cum on you,” he growls in a sotto voice. Barmey makes a desperate, hysterical noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of tongue licking flesh. 

Feetman’s hit with another twin wave of arousal.

“go ‘head and cum,” Benrey says in what was clearly supposed to be a play on ‘go get the ball.’ Feetman’s hips stutter and his eyes start to roll up. “good boy, _that’s_ a good boy.”

He lets himself go and comes with a long, deep groan. Not even caring about the pressure on his knot or that he’d probably ruined a pair of briefs. Barmey trembles and moans beneath his grip. As Feetman’s facilities began to return to him somewhat, he realizes the man beneath him has started to softly cry “please,” over and over.

Please, _what?_ He wants to goad. As it is, the most his brain has the capacity for is wordless panting against the back of Barmey’s neck.

He feels the top of his head being pat. “mmph- off,”Benrey mumbles, pushing at him. Oh, right. Wouldn’t want to crush Barmey once he collapsed. He shakily pushes himself off and falls backwards onto his ass, legs boxing the still bowed-over and trembling Barmey. 

From this angle he could clearly see the mess he’d made against the other man’s shorts, and a twinge of guilt runs through the still-heady rush of endorphins travelling his system. 

“Hey-” he starts to say in weak apology.

Benrey lifts Barmey up by the back of his shirt like he weighs nothing and pushes him back against Feetman’s chest. 

“hold,” he grunts, stroking at himself again. Feetman tentatively wraps his arms around Barmey’s chest.

Benrey grips Barmey by the hair to yank his head up. From this angle, Feetman could see that their victim’s face is still flushed, eyes scrunched shut. 

“yeah? please?” Benrey growls, pushing his cock closer to Barmey’s face. Barmey whines and draws his head away, only to have the back of it bump into Feetman’s chest.

Benrey shuffles forward and taps the tip of his dick against the corner of Barmey’s mouth. “give it a lil, uh. kiss,” he says lowly. 

Feetman’s tail starts thumping against the floor. He’s still spent, but his dick gives a little twinge of further interest. He tightens his own hold. “Yeah,” he growls, nodding his head along. “C’mon. Do it.”

Barmey makes another desperate, frustrated sound. He turns his head and gave the tip a quick peck. 

“ooh. kinda gross,” Benrey goads, stroking himself a little faster. “pretty uh. pretty sick of yah.”

“ _bro-_ ” Barmey whines, squirming. “benrey- you- augh!” 

Feetman licks at his neck. “Tastes like you like it,” he sneers. “Maybe you _are_ sick.”

Benrey’s eyes gleam. “again,” he said breathlessly. “open yer mouth,”

“h-huh?” Barmey protests. His lips stay parted. 

“wider.”

Feetman nips at his skin. “You heard him.” He’s starting to take on the playful lilt as well.

“gonna-” Benrey smacks his lips, breath growing shallow. Any trace of apathy’s long gone. It made a thrill run down Feetman’s spine to see him focused like this, making someone _else_ squirm.

Benrey moves his arm at a frantic pace. “yeah- cool- right there-” he groans, scrunching his own eyes shut in concentration. 

Barmey sobs at that, though it’s clear from the sound of it that his mouth is still open. 

He made another cute noise of complaint as Benrey shoots a rope across his cheek. Benrey pressed the head of his dick past Barmey’s lips, in just enough to pour the rest of his cum into place. 

Barmey makes high pitched noises of distress and tries to struggle. He smells so hot for it, he’d probably be mistaken for a bitch in heat. Feetman murmurs as much into his ear. It makes him choke.

Benrey pulls back with a satisfied sigh and tucks himself back into his pants. “don’t-” he starts, when it’s clear Barmey’s about to spit. Feetman’s way ahead of it and clamps a hand over his mouth.

“No,” he says sternly, as if _Barmey’s_ the badly behaved dog. “Swallow it.”

Barmey makes an angry sound and stubbornly tries to shake his head.

Benrey reaches over to pull Barmey’s shorts down, low enough to free his hard, weeping dick. He presses his bare foot against it again. “do it and you can cum,” he says measuredly, smiling to show his pointy teeth. 

Barmey makes a panicky noise and tries to arch his hips up into the foot. Benrey draws it back. “uh... _no._ said _if_ you swallow, idiot.”

“Not very bright, are you?” Feetman piles on cruelly. “It’s one simple _fucking_ direction.”

Benrey teasingly runs his foot up the shaft again. “spitters ‘re quitters,” he sing songs. “you a quitter, lil’ boy?”

Barmey’s breathing loud and fast through his nose. After a moment’s pause, there’s the sound of a large swallow. Feetman can see movement in Barmey’s throat. He releases his hand and Barmey immediately starts gasping for air. 

“Ah! Hold on, let me see,” Feetman says playfully, grasping Barmey’s chin and moving around to inspect the inside of his mouth properly. He can feel little puffs of warm air and slick drool on his fingers. He makes a show of prodding at his teeth and tongue, as if they really had made him swallow a pill. “Mhm. Yep. Checks out.”

Benrey pushes his foot back down firmly without another word. Barmey whimpers and practically gibbers as he once again starts arching up into it. Almost humping it. Feetman makes it harder for him by wrapping his arms around him tight because- well, just because. The squirming felt good to him. A futile attempt by his next meal to get away. 

“you’re just a lil cum slut, arncha,” Benrey goads, rubbing back against him now.

“ _guh-_ ” Barmey chokes. He begins to shudder.

“makin’ a mess everywhere,” he continues to croon. “dis _gus_ ting.”

Barmey cries and seizes up as he cums all over Benrey’s foot. He collapses back against Feetmans chest, bonelessly. Gasping for air, eyes closed, eyelashes wet. 

Benrey stares down at his own foot. “uh, you gonna clean this?” he asks, disgruntled. He raises his foot up high to poke at Barmey’s cheek with his big toe. “hello?” It leaves a smaller smear of cum besides the first.

“I...think he’s out,” Feetman says hesitantly.

“ugh, fine,” Benrey attempts to whine. It’s clear he’s in too good a mood to fully commit. He huffs and wipes his foot across Barmey’s shirt.

He sits down on the floor next to Feetman. Absentmindedly rubs his cum into Barmey’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, which earns a wince and a grumble of complaint. Benrey leans over and plants a kiss right into his temple. 

From that angle, he looks up at Feetman through his lashes. Not for the first time, Feetman is struck by how _human_ he can look, sometimes. It’s a lot more frightening than when he’s off enough to trip his brain’s Uncanny Valley wire. Frightening to _him,_ anyway.

Slowly- almost hesitantly- Benrey lifts his head, angles it until their lips brush. Doesn’t go further, as if asking for permission. It’s a funny thing to ask for, after all of fucking... _that._ Funny enough to make Feetman snort, amusing enough for him to close the gap. It shouldn’t be special- they’ve kissed deeply, and sweetly, after fooling around before. But something about it feels different, this time. Now that they’ve worked as a team. Like they’re sealing some sort of deal.

_Could_ you be mine? He wonders, pulling back and looking deeply into Benrey’s dead, void-like eyes. As he leans in for another kiss, and then another. Nice. Sweet. He’s not sure how much longer he could avoid being _Benrey’s_...but the thought of it being requited is simultaneously soothing, and too much to bear. It’s permission for Feetman to give in to this slavish, slobbering, dog-like devotion. 

Disgusting.

Speaking of which. He breaks away, internally satisfied by Benrey’s resulting whine. 

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know- clean him up, at least?” Feetman jostles the still-groggy Barmey in his arms. Loathe as he is to admit it, Barmey looked a lot cuter when half passed out. Cheeks still pink, face slack. Peaceful. A lot of the negative must come from him talking- kind of like Freemind, in that respect. Maybe _he_ should be the one wearing the muzzle, haha. Funny joke. 

“mmph, fine,” Benrey acquiesces. “kinda uh. weird that you’d want to bathe him. but…” 

“I didn’t-” Feetman feels his face warming up. He’s not sure if Barmey’s _that_ cute. “Can’t you just- I don’t know, use your magic to do it?”

“huh? no. not funny enough.”

Feetman clicks his tongue. “Y’all got wet wipes?” He hoists Barmey up by the armpits. Drags him to the bed like a sack of potatoes and dumps him on his back. 

“‘course.”

“bruh…” Barmey whines. He flops onto his side, rubbing the cum on his face right into Benrey’s sheets.

“calm down,” Benrey shushes him. “save it for later. dumbass.”

The prospect hits him hard. “Seriously?” Feetman’s tail starts wagging again. Play? More play? “What do you mean, _later?_ ”

Benrey puts his hands in his hoodie pockets and leans his shoulder against the wall, looking like a cat who got its cream. Which, in a way…

“barn boy’s leavin on a lil trip this weekend,” he says casually. “figured we should uh. make the most of it.”

They share a look, then stare down at Barmey’s prone form. Barmey peeks an eye open at them. His cheeks turn red. He licks his lips.

“what…?” he says tentatively. He smells of nervousness, but also excitement. Giddiness. 

Benrey strolls over and starts to stroke his broad, flat palm down Feetman’s back. “waddaya say, boy? take it?” 

Feetman stares down at Barmey and smiles. All teeth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a wonderful xmas eve to all my readers
> 
> check in tomorrow, xmas day, for a lil bonus present!


	10. Meanwhile.....(Barney/Freemind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barney leaves for the weekend- a getaway at Casa de Freeman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some nice, clean, Xmas fun. Y'all do this type of shit during the holiday, right? I wouldn't actually know.

"I'm glad we finally got to sit down and have that beer, doc," Barney joked, leaning back against the couch and taking a sip. It was their third beer, actually. But hey- who’s counting.

Freeman smiled and put his own bottle down onto the coffee table. 'I am, too.' he signed. 'How's life with the other Barneys treating you?' 

Barney snorted. "Well I'm _here_ , ain't I?"

Loathe as he was to admit it, his plan to allivient tensions by having Benrey and Feetman bang it out had had some...unexpected consequences. It’d gotten real worse, real quick too. If he so much as glimpsed one more incident of Benrey siccing Feetman on Barmey for "cheating" at Street Fighter in a manner much too suggestible for his liking, he was going to walk right into the woods at the edge of his property and not come back out. It didn't help that he had heavy suspicions about Barmey doing things on purpose to get a rise out of the pair as of late. He couldn't even ban Feetman from the house with the 2-to-1 vote. 

Freeman reached over and patted his knee with a look of understanding. Barney turned his head away and coughed. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask..." He looked pointedly at the spot on the floor with the sunny patch, where Freemind was lazily lying on his side.

'I've yet to figure out the maid costume compulsion myself, honestly.’

"...Right. I get that, you've told me.” Made him thankful the same impulse hadn’t gripped Feetman, honestly. He’d love to compare notes, but he hadn’t gotten permission beforehand and, well- he figured they’d find out soon enough, anyway. _Real_ soon, if he was lucky.

“But...what's with those weird hand mittens?" Freemind was wearing white cat paw gloves, complete with the pink toe beans.

It was Freeman's turn to cough. 'He...wouldn't stop scratching. Drastic action was in order.' 

"Really." Barney said flatly. "And it works?"

Freemind snorted before his double could reply. " _Hardly_ " he said with his eye still closed. 

'Please don't interrupt when the adults are talking,' Freeman snapped. Barney pulled at his collar awkwardly.

"Oh, _I'm sorry_. Are you trying to say something? I can't see it right now, numbnuts." Freemind clicked his tongue. "I guess you'll just have to use that...purdy little mouth of yours if you want to tell me anything~"

"Now hold on just a minute. There's no need for that." Barney cut in, feeling defensive on Freeman's behalf. Lord knows the scientists at Black Mesa gave him enough shit for it once word got out he had the physical capability for speech. Some people just had trouble getting the words out most times, that's all.

Freemind cracked his eye open at that and glared. "Yeah, I think _we'll_ be the judge of what is and isn't needed around here. Just imagine you're back on the job. Your opinion doesn't matter." 

He stopped to stretch his arms up over his head and yawn, a disturbing parody of an actual sleepy cat. " _Honestly_ , why Freeman, as a _me_ , would lower himself to talk to the likes of _you_ in his spare time is beyond even my capability of understanding. And believe me, that's saying something." Freeman began to rise to his feet. Barney put a hand on his shoulder to stop him and rose up instead. Seems the beer had done little to mellow him out, though it sure had loosened his tongue. 

"Is that really what you think of your own friend?" he demanded, surprised by the venom in his own voice. "Jesus Christ, Freemind! Your Barney thinks the _world_ of you!" 

Freemind’s tail began to twitch. "I don't even know who the _fuck_ "my" Barney is!" he snapped. "I mean, do you have any idea how many security guards the facility employs _alone_? It's no surprise he's heard of me, of course. But the guy seems fucking delusional. And if he's anything like you, I'm uninterested. I don't lower myself in befriending dumb people." 

'Or people in general,' Freeman dryly added. He glanced up at Barney's face and his expression hardened. 'Apologize.' he glared.

"Pass," Freemind said, turning around so his back faced the duo. His tail was going hard enough to thump against the floor.

Barney grabbed his bottle and swallowed the rest of the contents down in one swig. He'd learned over the years that having a little alcohol in your system helped to numb the pain of a fight some. And from the looks of it, that's where this was going. Good. He needed the exercise. 

"I'm glad, actually." He spat. "For all his faults, he doesn't deserve a fate bad enough to include _you_ as a friend. Hell, having to interact once with you is bad enough. I can't imagine how much you must be suffering, having to live with yourself."

The hackles on Freemind's head and tail raised and he let out a low, demonic sounding growl. He said nothing. 

Freeman adjusted his glasses. 'He's never done that before. I'm going to get some measuring equipment, if that's alright with you. Excuse me.' 

Barney stopped Freeman with his arm. 'You leave me alone with him now, I can't be held responsible for the result.' he signed. 

Freeman winked. He carefully lowered Barney's arm for him and exited the room.

Freemind let out a dark chuckle. "You really think I'm just going to let that slide?" 

He started to clamor to his feet. His voice rose. "Really think I'm going to let you get away with _any_ more shit when you've obviously been privately making fun of me _all afternoon_?!"

"...What in the hell are you even-" 

Freemind whirled around, cat ears low, wearing a wrathful expression as he started to advance on Barney. _"Don't even bother lying your way out of it!_ How _stupid_ does Freeman think I am? Huh?" he switched to a nasally voice that sounded nothing like Freeman's. "Oh, sure! Let me just invite my pal Barney Whoeverthefuck over out of the blue, _we totally won't make fun of the guy in the frilly maid outfit and cat ears or anything!_ "

If Barney were in a better state of mind, he might latch onto that obvious insecurity clue and de-escalate, the way he'd often had to do with Barmey at first. Unlucky for Freemind that he wasn't in the mood, he guessed. 

"Well you are just so gosh darn _cute_ Freemind, bless your heart!" he said in a mocking tone closer to Benrey's than he might’ve liked, "Can't expect a man to fully take you serious when your fists are covered with kitten mittens, can yah?" 

"Oh....these gloves are coming off pal, don't you worry!" Freemind snarled and threw them to the ground. He unsheathed his claws, taking a running start at Barney. _"And I know what 'bless your heart' really indicates, you shady southern jackass!_ "

Barney lowered his own stance. Now, it _could_ be a hustle, but from the look of that form Freemind had never had any formal fight training. Probably'd gotten cocky from all the shootout victories he'd earned from the rescas fallout. 

His suspicions were soon confirmed. Freemind took the bait and aimed to sink his claws into the back of Barney's neck. Barney ducked lower- though he still got caught some, and damn if that didn't sting!- hooked an elbow around Freemind's thigh, and pulled him off balance onto the floor. Freemind yowled in anger but near instantaneously flipped to his front. Damn. Guess even that son of a bitch could land on his feet. Lucky this wasn't a real wrestling match, and Barney was feeling extra mean besides. He pulled Freemind back by the tail and clamored on top of him. Reached around to grip one wrist to pin it against Freemind's back and leaned in with all his weight, the other crushed between Freemind's belly and the floor by the combined weight of two grown men on top of it

"Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou" Freemind snarled as he continued to try and wiggle out of Barney's grasp. His feet came up to hit at the back of Barney's legs.

"Keep kicking like a little girl, I'm _sure_ it'll help," Barney sneered, shoving one of his own legs out to try and keep them against the floor. 

Freemind laughed. " _I'm_ not the one with the little schoolgirl crush," he shot back, voice full of scorn and malice. 

Barney felt the smile slip from his face. He gripped Freemind's wrist harder until he heard a groan of pain. Caused poison satisfaction to bloom in his chest. "What was that?" 

"I'm a fucking- ah- theoretical physicist, think I can't do basic math? From what I’ve heard, Feetman and his Barney are off having a fling, and _my_ quote unquote Barney is clearly obsessed with me. So are you too pussy to confess, or did he knock you straight into the friendzone when you tried?" 

In lieu of a reply, Barney reached over and yanked Freemind's head back by his greasy hair. He felt simultaneously numb and so, _so_ ugly from the sudden malicious urges that had bubbled up. He might not be no theoretical physicist, but he could _also_ do basic math, thanks very much. Between the unfortunate things Barmey and Benrey were probably getting up to based on the dumb things Barmey said sometimes on account of him thinking himself slick, and Freemind acting like a scorned mistress, the pieces were starting to click into place. 

He gave a low whistle into Freemind's cute little pointed ear and reveled in its reactive twitch. "That's what been stickin' in your craw?" he crooned. "I'm startin' to think this house's lil' kitten maid might be actin' out 'cause he's jealous."

"What're you, deaf? I _JUST_ SAID IT'S FOR MAKING FUN OF ME!" Freemind shouted, fully renewing his efforts to get away. Jeez, with the way he was twisting, it really was starting to feel like wrestling a cat. "Honestly, I thought all that breakroom talk about guard work orders going through one ear and out the other was an exaggeration. Guess not!"

Barney caught sight of Freeman re-entering the room with a clipboard and froze. Hopefully he hadn't heard too much of that conversation...though considering how loud Freemind was, it wasn't completely unlikely.

Freeman flashed him a thumbs up. Barney decided to focus on what he was good at. He was a doer, not a thinker.

"And what the fuck are _you_ doing? Just gonna stand there and let this happen, huh?" 

He'd had to cat sit for his cousin once, come to think of it. Poor fella had mites and needed ear drops. Now how had he managed to...oh! 

"Fucking clipboard...you know, keep this up and all that's going to do is teach me that you taking notes is a signal that you're hor-eeeeeeeee!" 

Barney used Freemind's distraction to his advantage by flipping him over and hauling his stocking clad legs ( _really?_ ) over one shoulder and squeezing them together against his bicep. Freemind was now angled down, head and neck against the floor. The wrist closest to Barney was grabbed again. 

"It's hard for cats to git away like this, doc. Thought I'd do the liberty of trying it out," Barney called as he fought to pin the wrist down against Freemind's middle. "Now as you can see here," he continued, suddenly thinking it funny to emulate a TV show crocodile wrestler, "His free hand is trying to claw at me, but he can’t move too much with his butt this high up"

Freemind gave another demonic growl. Freeman hummed and nodded, situating the clip board to cover the lower half of his face as he jotted something down.

"I'll just claw the skin off your hand you complete- utter- _moron_!" Freemind hissed, sinking his claws deep into the hand pinning his other wrist.

Barney winced. "You can," he said through grit teeth, "if you don't mind me catching an eyeful of those... _adorable_ silk panties." 

Indeed, the position had caused his skirt to slip down to pool around his narrow hips, and without the freedom of leg movement he was powerless to stop it. His deep red panties stuck out like a sore thumb beneath his sheer black tights. As did... 

"Woo, boy," Barney said, much too gleefully. Hard to feel bad for the guy intent on peeling the skin off his arm like a potato. He caught Freemind's eye. "I'm surprised you're enjoyin' this treatment so much from someone of such low station, such as myself." 

Freemind dutifully lifted his head and followed Barney's gaze back to the obvious tent pressing against the material. Freemind's face turned almost as red as his panties. He looked away, looked back to fix Barney with a glare of pure anger and hatred. He set his head back down and turned his face away from Barney and Freeman both as far as he could, ears pressed near flat against his head. His shoulders shook.

Barney's revelry was interrupted by a small stab of sympathy. The guy couldn't help dressing like this, after all. Allegedly. And while he might deserve an ass beating, this was becoming a little…

He looked at Freeman in question, but the other man just shrugged and motioned for Barney to turn his attention back to the brat in his lap. Barney cleared his throat. "'Course...I'm sure even a dumb guard could understand a simple apology..." 

He released his wrist, reaching to ruck his skirt back up enough to preserve some modesty. 

Freemind stiffened in his arms and his tail began to move. He grabbed Barney's hand in an unforgiving vice before it could grasp the skirt properly. "Don't..." he growled.

He turned to Barney, wiping at his eye roughly with the heel of his palm. His glare was just as fiery as before. "Don't you _dare_ feel sorry for me, you...you lowly worm! You think I give half a fuck about what _you_ think!?" 

Oh, thank god. He'd hate to cut the bul- the _just punishment_ short so soon. He couldn't imagine Freemind acting with grace about it, either.

"You got it," he said dryly. "In _that_ case, don't suppose you'd like to release my hand, either?" 

Freemind was already dragging said hand over to his mouth to bite it. 

"Sure you wanna do that, kitten?" Barney asked with more than a little dangerous edge in his voice.

"That a threat?" Freemind sneered, before sinking his pointy eyeteeth into the meat of Barney palm. "Weal scawy." 

Both hands had claws sunk into his arm- he was clearly intent on keeping it there. Barney grunted from the pain. Damn it if that didn't sting like a bitch! Fortunately, he had experience with this sort of cat issue, too. Instead of trying to rip his hand _out_ , he pressed it further into Freemind's mouth. He felt his thumb hit something soft near the back of his throat and the vibrations from the subsequent choke. There was a twinge in his lower belly from the sound. That'd feel _real_ nice against the head of his c- _woah_ , there! 

He shot a guilty look back up to Freeman as if the other man had been privy to his thoughts. Seems he was still busy taking notes, though the glances over his clipboard looked a tad more...focused. Not just on Freemind, either. That look was for _him_. Barney suddenly felt like he'd been filled with molten lava. His dick began to rise to attention like an obedient soldier boy. 

Yknow...considering how weird this was already, maybe he shouldn't be this cagey. Loathe as he was to think about it right now, he could clearly hear the voices of his doubles in his head, ragging on him for even considering backing out of the delicious opportunity to feel up a slutty catboy maid while his crush watches. _'gonna be a lil’ chicken? gonna uh, pass on...oh, haha! on_ chikan'ing _the bad lil ecchi boy?' 'yeah, bro! you're living the dream, desu!'_ At this rate he'd do it just to shut them up and stop the internal cringing. His boner was starting to flag.

With the way things were going, he wasn't inclined to free his other hand by letting go of Freemind's legs. All that'd earn was a good couple of kicks to the face. 

Oh well, he thought idly as he purposefully pushed his thumb into the back of Freemind's mouth for the second time. Not ideal, but he was running short of better options. Freemind full on choked this time, eye wide and teary and body bucking up in spasm. The reaction felt like it was soothing some sort of soulful itch. 

Freemind, in turn, sunk his claws in all the deeper. Blood was beginning to well up and drip onto Freemind's apron. 

"Vindictive lil guy, aincha?" Barney grunted. At the very least, it was nice to see the flash of anger on Freemind's face. He pressed again. Another choke. Another buck. Drool was beginning to leak out of the corners of Freemind's mouth. 

He looked back up at Freeman."Poor thing doesn't even know he's hurting himself more than he's hurting me," he continued, voice laced with faux concern. 

Freemind made a gurgling sound. 

'That is sad,' Freeman replied, clearly trying to make a pensive expression. 'He's probably just scared, you know. Lashing out.' 

The gurgling became a tad more enraged-sounding. 

Barney huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right." 

Freemind unhooked his claws from Barney's arm and spit his hand out of his mouth, seething. "WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN, BIG MAN?!" he yelled, swiping his claws in Freeman's direction. 

Freeman raised an eyebrow, made an mm-HM noise, and wrote something else down on the clipboard.

"Yeah, real funny. Hysterical. And YOU!" he continued, as Barney fought once more to restrain his wrists one-handed. "If you're under some misguided notion that that was a fear response, _then you're about to see me terrified!_ "

Freeman had meanwhile gone to retrieve the discarded mittens. He approached with them in hand. Barney's heart beat harder in his throat the closer he got. Both he and Freemind had stilled.

'Think you can restrain his arms a little better?' Freeman asked politely. 

Freemind was the first to move again. He attempted to lunge out at his double, though the other was clearly still out of range. Since he was mostly pressing back against Barney for support, it wasn't hard to slip an arm up and lock it into a half nelson. He let go of Freemind's legs with his other arm and pushed them off of him. In the resulting scramble he somehow managed to both pin Freemind's other arm into a full nelson and lock his legs between his own. Wasn't the most comfortable, since it required him to be on his back. He was sorely out of breath from that little stunt, face wet and sweat soaking through his shirt. Luckily, from the sound of panting and general limpness in his arms, so was Freemind. 

This was further proven when Freemind hardly fought as Freeman ambled over and secured the mittens on each hand. He made eye contact with Barney and smiled, nodding in approval. Barney swallowed heavily, heart thudding against his ribcage so hard it hurt. 

"What's to stop him from taking them off again?" he managed to ask.

'He won't.' Freeman said simply. He looked back to Freemind and reached out toward his head despite the warning growl. 'Right?' he asked him, skritching at his ears. 

Freemind didn't reply in affirmative, though he didn't spit in Freeman's face either. Guess that was good a confirmation as any. Freeman walked back to where he'd placed his clipboard and took a seat. Pen at ready. Watching.

Barney heard the tail thump on the floor again. Freemind's ears swiveled a little back and forth. His mind must be going a mile a minute. Fat luck that'd do him. He... 

...hissed through his teeth as Freemind suddenly ground his ass right into his hardon. 

"Bet you liked that, huh," Freemind said, sounding winded but still much too smug for Barney's liking. He did it again. Barney groaned. He _did_ like it, unfortunately.

"Bet I can make you cream your pants just from this, you disgusting low life. I'll even give you permission to imagine that it's-" 

Barney latched on to the side of Freemind's neck with his teeth and sealed his lips around it without much thought. Nothing like some good old fashioned hicky-giving to shut someone up. 

Freemind made a high pitched noise of surprise and squirmed vigorously for every suck. He tasted salty with sweat. "Stop it," Freemind whined. 

Barney let go."You're the boss." he replied, before immediately latching on to a piece of skin closer to Freemind's jaw. That one earned a full body shudder and some more unintentional -or was it still intentional?- rubbing against his dick. 

Barney let go of that patch too, pleased to see a dark red and purple mark already forming. 

"How's that," he breathed into Freemind's ear. "you enjoying getting marked up by an underling? Huh?" 

Freemind made a closed-mouth wailing sound at that. It was really starting to rev Barney up, honestly. He sucked at a third piece of skin. Freemind sounded like he was panting open-mouthed. The steady way he was rolling his hips down was definitely deliberate this time. 

"Yeah," he murmured tauntingly. "Everyone's gonna know you let me touch you now, sweetheart." 

The shudder at the pet name did not escape his attention. "Oh, he _liked_ that. Better mark it down, doc."

Barney was liking it, too. A pressure in his groin was slowly but steadily rising from all the grinding. He felt a sudden, gripping urge to see Freeman right now. Wanted to see his face.

He sucked a fourth mark against Freemind's neck, right up against the pulse. Freemind was too busy wiggling like a fish on hook and trying not to moan to process that Barney was releasing his grip. He wrapped his arms around his middle and hoisted them both upwards after a psych-up mental count to three. 

Soon Freemind was settled in his lap. Barney quit his hicky-giving and rested his chin on Freemind's muscular shoulder. If this just _happened_ to look like a popularly drawn feel-up pose, that was purely coincidence. 

Freeman was leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, no longer bothering to write. His gaze was somehow both heated and interested in the most clinical of senses. Made Barney feel like a lit fuse instead of a performing fool. He licked his lips.

Barney slid a palm up Freemind's chest, against the side of his neck and into the hair at the back of his head. He wretched Freemind's head up, forcing him to look at Freeman, too. "Y'see that?" he stage whispered. Softly. Lilting. 

His other hand slid downward, skirting his erection entirely in favor of rubbing against the inside of his thigh. Up and down against the smooth nylon. "See how he's lookin' at us now? At _you_?" 

He heard Freemind swallow. His legs spread further apart, a little, on their own accord. "Not so bad bein’ cute as a button, now is it?" 

" _Hah_ " Freemind replied, breathing hard. His hips gave a small buck. Barney shushed him as if approaching a spooked animal. 

His thigh petting was getting bolder now, rougher, traveling a little higher up into the skirt at each pass. Freemind slowly thrust his hips forward to try, and fail, to meet it each time. Barney felt his mean streak grow the longer it went on, the more frustrated Freemind got.

Barney pressed a chaste kiss against the freckles on his burning hot cheek in what was supposed to be mockery. Looked straight on to Freeman again. 

"I got some some news for yah," he continued to lilt. He hoped the smile on his face wasn't as deranged as it felt. "Tough guys don't fall to pieces this easily, _kitten_." He punctuated his point with a hard pinch on his thigh. Freemind gasped.

"That about right, doc?" he asked in a louder, cheerfuller tone while soothing the mark over. 

Freeman wet his lips. "...That's right," he said hoarsely.

Freemind drew in a deep breath, clearly intent on ruining the moment by trying to argue it to death. Barney's hand moved from his thigh to grab tight at his chin quick as a whip. 

"Think. Carefully. About how you want this to go," he growled in a much meaner tone. "With that big ole' brain of yours. We ain't even _got_ to how you're gonna make up for your initial rudeness yet." 

Freemind wiggled in his lap a little and pawed at his arm light enough to almost be parody from before. "Muh," he protested. 

"I'm gonna stick my thumb in your mouth again," he continued. " _You_ get to make the choice on how we proceed." His thumb inched closer to those parted lips. "No- don't try an' look at me. Keep lookin' at him"

For a moment, Freemind did neither. But then Barney felt his little sandpaper tongue give a tentative lick against the pad of his thumb. Even closed his lips around it and gave a nice suck to drive the point home. 

"Aw, ain't he a smart one?" Barney praised, withdrawing his thumb and returning that hand to his thigh with a pat. He let go of the tight grip on his hair in favor of a much more pleasant light scratch. Even Freeman gave him a genuine smile of encouragement. 

Barney felt vibrations against his chest and realized Freemind was purring. He was hit with a sudden, entirely irrational urge to wrap his arms around tighter into a hug. Damn it. He really was acting cute now. 

"Go on and keep yer head up," he ordered instead. He slid that hand down to the opposite thigh. Now that this was Actually Happening, his skin was starting to feel like it had near caught on fire. Blood electric. Light headed.

"That's right," he breathed. "Go ahead and spread- oh, right again already! You're on a roll, kitten.” The vibrations against his back got stronger. 

Freeman sat up straighter in his seat as Freemind fully spread his legs. 'Remarkable response you're coaxing here, assistant,' he said. Barney smiled dopily. He just hoped the hearts in his eyes weren't too obvious. 

Freeman tugged at his shirt collar. 'And the subject is, as always, fascinating. If I may,' he rose from his seat and came to sit close in front of them. 'This definitely requires a closer look.

Freemind squirmed a little bit against his chest. Barney privately agreed. Freeman's intent gaze could be...something else, that's for sure. They might as well be under a real live microscope. With most of his blood out of his brain right now, Barney could do little except fall back on the usual habits he used when uncomfortable. Deflection. Cattiness.

Freemind's legs were spread wide enough to hook over Barney's knees, but the skirt pooled near the middle still gave him some modesty. Might be time to fix that.

"Why don't you show him how much you're appreciatin' his attention?" he crooned, rolling his hips up against his ass for emphasis on the off chance Freemind was too out of it to understand hints. 

"C'mon now," he gently urged when Freemind decided that his hands were going to take their sweet time. Try as he might though, that little sharp edge in his voice just wouldn't leave. "You ain't gettin' shy on us, are yah?"

Freemind hesitated, then shook his head.

"Noooo. Course not. Easy does it, kitten."

Freemind hooked his mittens under the edge of the skirt and slowly slid it up all the way up to his waist. His head was turned to the side, eye squeezed shut. Eyelashes wet. Flushed. Trembling. Barney started trembling too, being just about on the edge of throwing him down and fucking him into the floor. Shame he’d chosen to be good.

The spot near the top of his obvious erection was already soaked through the stockings. Barney could feel himself throb as he peered over Freemind's shoulder to look. He squeezed at his thighs appreciatively. "Wouldja look at that," he said, looking back up at Freeman and nodding. Freeman nodded back and gently bit the crook of his finger. 

"Not _you_ ," he said, tone getting a little rougher again when he noticed Freemind hadn't yet looked back. He yanked his head straight. "Told you to keep lookin' at him, remember?" 

Freemind whined softly, ears lowering to half mast. 

"Shhh, I know," Barney soothed, effortlessly switching to the lilt as he pulled back. He pet at his head and kissed the felty tip of one ear, then the other. "I know, darlin'." 

Freeman reached his knuckles out to hang in front of Freemind's face. Freemind rubbed his cheek and jaw against them.

Freeman flicked his gaze up to meet Barney's over his shoulder. Barney felt pinned. Couldn't even make fun of Freemind for doing that, because if Freeman held his knuckles out to _him_ he'd sure as shit do the same. He inhaled sharply through his nose. 

"Alright," he said, rapidly completing cumbrain math and coming to the conclusion that neither he nor Freemind were going to last long enough to get to actual fucking at this rate. Luckily Barney was nothing if not innovative. 

He let go of Freemind's thighs to unzip the front of his pants and couldn't help groaning lowly when taking himself out after feeling nothing but fabric for so long. 

"Time for your apology," he grunted. He hoisted Freemind up and adjusted until his dick stuck out just underneath Freemind's own. Tried real hard not to think about how Freeman was staring right at that now, too, and failing at that, decided he no longer cared.

He reached to grip the crotch of the stockings and tore a hole right through like a true brute. His dick twitched and weeped as it hit the silk panties and throbbing member underneath.

"Close your legs again- tha-nk you,” he managed to groan out. He had a hard time not cumming just from the feeling of being encased by the damp heat of his sweaty bare thighs and the smooth rub against the front.

"Now, Dr. Freeman," he said, because he felt well and truly insane right now. "Would you assist me in holding the subject's thighs shut? Real tight."

"Of course," Freeman rasped, eyes not leaving the spot where the crown of his cock peeking through even as he did so.

Barney wrapped his arms around kitten's middle, pressed his face in his neck and fucked up between his thighs quick and dirty, not caring to focus on anything besides the warm, soft, silky feel of it all and the sounds of little choked purrs and moans. Kitten was even going so far as to hold those little mitten paws in front of him like a cat showing its belly.

"Niiiiice kitty," he groaned, mouthing against his stubble-rough skin. "So cute...good..." 

He looked up at Freeman again, and caught Freeman looking right back at him.

His head emptied of any remaining thought. Barney leaned in and captured Freeman's lips with his own. Soft. Wet. Tongues sliding against each other. Thighs around him clenching harder.

He came with a long moan. Gave a couple of final rough thrusts upward as he fucked his way through it, goaded into near ferocity by kitten’s high little mewls. 

He broke the kiss and sagged against him, panting. "Ah," was all he managed, feeling fit to pass out. 

He had just enough brain capacity left to remember to stop squeezing poor Freemind so hard. "T-thassa...good..." he tried. 

He opened his eyes again when he felt a hand card through his own hair. "Good boy,” Freeman called him with a wry, affectionate grin. 

Okay. Jeez. He's passing out for real, now. He rolled Freemind off of him and collapsed all the way to the floor. 

"Srry bout...th' tights..." he slurred, eyelids flickering.

From his new vantage point, he could make out Freeman leaning in to kiss Freemind and knead at the front of his panties. The last sight he saw before his eyes slid shut for good was Freemind clutching at him and shuddering hard as Freeman murmured something about what a soft, sweet little pussycat he was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind Bullying....2!


	11. Weekend at Barney's, pt 1 (Barmey/Benrey, Barmey/Feetman)

Barmey’s living the dream. A constant ramp up of sexual bullying throughout the week that could only lead to the happiest of endings? Tailor made to fit, because the architect had the exact same tastes? And with the help of a Gordon no less- yeah, it’s not _his_ Gordon, but Feetman could get prett-y darn close! Barney’s leaving today, and once he did they no longer had to be careful. No more half-assed orders for pouncing and growling without doing anything else.The _real_ fun could finally begin. 

He should be ecstatic. 

He stared at his dual monitors, tapping keys and clicking his mouse for the latest raid. He wasn’t so much taking part as he was conducting muscle memory. He could barely see what was going on. Maybe the screen was too dim. 

His thoughts kept drifting to Freemind. Benrey and his Gordon were a thing, clearly. Barney didn’t _say_ he was going to be visiting _his_ Gordon, but he’d been acting too happy recently. Yesterday Barmey had caught him _whistling_. And he’d been bringing up stories about ‘the doc’ a lot too. It was a safe bet. 

When all this weird alternate universe shit had first been going down, Barmey had assumed that maybe Freemind had been too busy. Which was chill, since Barmey was busy dealing with his clones too. He didn’t _need_ to hang out a lot like some needy girlfriend or anything. Strong friendships could handle bouts of silence. But at this point it was getting way too sus. Especially since Feetman confirmed that Barmey _did_ have Freemind’s cell number after all- so why’d he get blocked? Was Freemind mad at him or something?

It pissed him off. He hadn’t _done_ anything. It wasn’t fair for him to get shut out just ‘cause Freemind was on his period or whatever. And he couldn’t even tell him that, because he was still blocked! Augh! 

The next couple of mouse presses were so hard that the button got stuck. His avatar started glitching on screen. Dumbass teammates started screaming at him through his headset. He savagely reminded them that they’re all gay filthy casuals who can’t play right in the first place, they have the worst strats, he’d fucked all their moms twice and came inside the second time. He blasted a high decibel burst of white noise into the mic for good measure, and forcibly shut down his PC.

It’d been getting too gay anyway. He hadn’t been feeling it at all. Sucks to suck. 

He leaned against the back of his leet gamer chair with a sigh. Freemind was probably just in one of his snits. It happened sometimes. In the past it had been fun to watch him yell at _other_ people for messing with his stuff. Some of the best pranks conducted at Black Mesa had been by Freemind against the latest 'saboteur.’ Especially considering how shit those old farts in lab coats were always treating Barmey and his buddies in security, Freemind was almost something of a folk hero. The screams, the crying, the hands so shaky they couldn’t write dumb theorums on the whiteboard the right way...heheh. Good memories. 

But Barmey had been the one cheering him on the whole time! He’d even added to the harassment if he could get away with it. Like that one time he pretended that the keypad didn’t work right as Freemind was striding up the hall toward his latest target. That guy had been literally shaking! So awesome. What had Freemind said to him when he’d caught up? “Perfect”? He was so right. It was that type of teamwork that made their friendship so special in the first place. 

Of course, the stuff with Feetman put some things in a another light. But that was _different._ This entire thing, whatever it was, was clearly Benrey’s doing. Feetman was more incidental than anything. Not that Barmey didn’t enjoy it or anything, that would be a lie. It was hot. But the more time he spent around him again, the more clear it was becoming that his initial assessment of the situation had been correct. Outside of fun sexytime, Feetman was a whiny bitch who gave too much of a fuck about lame shit. Total moralfag. 

Hey, Freemind was the smartest guy on earth. Could he have figured out that Barmey had been giving off fail vibes all of a sudden? Like some sort of sensitive pre-emptive gaydar? Didn’t want to be bothered, cut him off without notice? It’d be a smart move, from an objective standpoint.

He should think about something else. It was starting to make him feel weird again. He couldn’t hear any telling noises coming from behind the wall, so maybe Benrey’d want to continue their ongoing Street Fighter tournament.

-

“you’re really bad at this today,” Benrey said sometime during their fourth match.

“uh yeah, it’s on purpose. moron.” Barmey said irritably, eyes firmly trained on screen.

“liar boy. why would you play bad on purpose?”

Barmey made a strategic snap decision. “buttering you up. for l-” He caught Barney enter the living room in the corner of his eye. “for...borrowing a…game.”

“what?”

“Something up with your basic reflexes, Barmey?” said Barney, who had decided to stop behind the couch to watch his progress. “Need me to call a doctor?”

“ugh, don't you have a dick appointment to be getting to?” Barmey snapped. 

“Not quite yet. Pause the game real quick, I need both of you to look at me.”

They paused the game and turned around toward him. 

“You two-” Barney began.

“why do you smell weird?” Benrey interrupted.

“yeah, and what’s with the hair gel?” Brmey gleefully added. “are you cosplaying draco malfoy with that hard helmet?”

“why’d you shave? expecting some uh. face smooches or sumthin’?” Benrey pursed his lips and made kissy noises.

“hey, hey barney, what flavor lip gloss are you wearing? something hella _fruity_ i bet.”

Benrey cackled at that one. It made the weird feeling in Barmey’s chest dissipate a little. He smiled.

Barney had been silently, expressionlessly staring them down with his arms crossed. “You done?” he asked flatly.

Benrey and Barmey shot each other a look before turning back on Barney.

“y u mad, bro?”

“yeah, calm down. why are you getting all defensive?”

“we’re just doing this because you’re _so_ cool, barney! tell us the strat. you bustin’ through the door dick out, or do you have a gay little poem you’re gonna recite first to get the juices flowing?” 

“barn boy’s got his _fancy_ chicken hat on. prolly won’t be diving in cock first.”

“lol. pussy.”

Barney reached behind his back and pulled out his stun stick. It started to make an all too familiar high pitch whine.

“How bout now?” Barney asked conversationally.

Benrey said nothing. Barmey, on the other hand, didn’t feel quite finished yet.

“oh no, he’s chargin’ his laser! nice dildo you’re waving around there. quit crying, we were just joking, you don’t have to-”

Barney swung the stun stick at Barmey’s head, stopping a few scant inches short. Barmey shrieked and leaned backward. He could feel the ends of his hair begin to stand up.

“I’m heading out now,” Barney said in a measured voice. “I want to come home to find the house _exactly_ the way I left it. Usual chores done and all. Meanin’ there’ll be consequences if it ain’t.”

They did not ask what consequences. They already had some idea from past experience. 

Barney drew his stick back and shut it off.

“I already spoke to Feetman about this,” Barney addressed Benrey. “Don’t go ruinin’ the communal areas. _Or my room._ I’ll run things through a blacklight if I’ve got to.”

“what?” Benrey said in his best I’m-not-listening voice.

“can you just leave already?” Barmey added once it became clear that Barney valued leaving more than petty retaliation.

Barney reacted over to ruffle Barmey’s hair. Barmey put his arm up to block it to no avail. 

“you suck,” Barmey complained. “i hope you die on the freeway.”

A few more fail threats later, Barney took his leave. He shut the door behind him with a slam. 

As the sound of it reverberated through the house, something in the air changed. Barmey couldn’t describe it in exacts- he and Benrey continued to play, with barely a glance between them. Benrey was a stoic guy, but even he showed _some_ expression when shit excited him. Maybe it was just as well. They had a tournament to finish. 

“this is lame,” Benrey said, throwing down his controller in disgust. It made Barmey’s stomach sink. He usually only did that when he was losing. “no fun. what’s _wrong_ with you today?”

Why did everyone keep saying that? “nothing’s wrong,” he protested.

Benrey turned onto his side to face Barmey, head propped against his fist. “you nervous?” he asked with a tinge of curiosity. Like a girl at a sleepover hunting for gossip. 

“nervous for what? kicking your ass?” Barmey shot back, cheeks beginning to warm. It wasn’t what he meant, and they both knew it.

But because Benrey was a total bastard, he felt the need to spell it out. He thrust his index finger on one hand in and out of a hole he made with the other while making lewd sounds. It was more disturbing than anything, considering the monotone.

“aren’t you a virgin?” he asked when he was done, eyes glittering.

“W- No!” Barmey burst out, jumping to his feet in outrage. His heart rate skyrocketed, out of anger. “I mean-that’s none of your business! Fuck _off,_ dude!” 

Benrey stared up at him boredly, eyes half lidded. “calm down.”

Barmey jabbed a finger back down at him threateningly. “i’ll fight you,” he warned. “barney isn’t around to stop me.” A fight should be in order _anyway_ just for the moronic suggestion alone! Just for the sake of it, even, cause _God_ he was steamed. 

“just sayin’. doncha think you should practice?” He waggled his brows.

“for _what?_ seriously, there’s no way either of you are getting a piece of this ass whether i am one or not. and i have a girlfriend, by the way, so i’m clearly not. ”

“clearly,” Benrey repeated sarcastically. 

Barmey nearly saw red. He hadn’t felt this mad since first learning about the whole Sarkeesian scandal. “ _you’re_ the one who’s always getting fucked anyway, bro!” he shouted. “pretty sure i don’t need help practicing for when i eventually fuck into your cumdump of a hole.”

Benrey smiled humorlessly. He reached out and somehow- despite the physics not quite adding up- managed to grasp the collar of Barmey’s shirt from his laid back position against the back of the couch. He used the grip to pull Barmey in closer. 

“hey,” he said lowly. “if i called for my dog right now, and told him to make you his bit _ch,_ ” he clicked at the last syllable tauntingly. “ fuck you right here on the floor. d’yah think he would?”

Barmey’s mind went perfectly blank. He was dimly aware of his mouth hanging open. 

“uh…”

He could picture it so clearly in his mind. Benrey sticking his pinkies in his mouth to give a loud whistle. The sounds of Feetman bounding over to them, already panting with excitement and bloodlust. Knocking Barmey to the floor, as he had all those times before, except this time he wouldn’t stop at a little humping, this time he would tear Barmey’s clothes off with his claws, and hold him still with his sharp teeth around the back of of his neck, his cock resting against-

Benrey swept two of his fingers up from the bottom of Barmey’s chin to the corner of his mouth. Collecting drool, Barmey realized with numb embarrassment. 

“i’m just sayin’’” he repeated, the tips of those fingers slowly drifting past his lower lip. Barmey wanted badly, so badly, to take them in and close his lips around them and _suck._ But the light touch alone was enough to keep him frozen stiff, trapped in Benrey’s dark, hypnotic gaze. 

So it took him a moment to realize that Benrey wasn’t going to elaborate further. Barmey gave himself a mental shake. This was entrapment, he just knew it. A battle of wits. Benrey must be the biggest dumbass on the planet to forget they had the same _brain._ He couldn’t be tricked that easily. Besides, when had anything _ever_ been easy with this version of himself? Guy had some sort of complex. 

He tore his gaze to the side and knocked Benrey’s hand away. “tch, yeah right. do it then. you won’t.”

Benrey’s eyebrows rose up toward his hairline, even as he released his hold on Barmey’s shirt. “you want me to?”

Ah, the old guilt by implication maneuver. “man, shut up with that cringe argument. i’m saying you’re not actually gonna, idiot. that’s _it._ ”

“just kinda weird you’d ask me to do that when the other choices are better,” Benrey shot back. His face stayed stoic, but the old Calhoun stubble-scratching tell was in full effect. Benrey didn’t even _have_ stubble. “‘s all. why you gotta bully me for bein’ _nice_?”

“...what other choices?” Barmey asked, suspicious. 

“you can leave,” Benrey said with a disinterested wave of his hand. He made his opinion of that choice clear by putting his thumb down and blowing a wet raspberry. “or you can uh,” he leaned back again and patted at his lap with a wry grin. “ask to sit on benny’s lap. lil boy tells santa what he wants.”

Barmey snorted. “uh..huh. so if i sit on your lap you’ll do whatever i want?”

“if you ask,” Benrey corrected. “gotta ask permission first. _real_ polite-like.”

Barmey shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “okay, so after all that polite shit, blah blah blah. you’ll really do _whatever?_ what if i want you to uh. i dunno. suck my dick or something?”

Benrey cocked his head to the side, unblinking stare suddenly probing. “you want this?” he asked with a lip raised high enough to show the points of his teeth. 

Barmey knew he was only joking. And he’d seen more than enough evidence that Benrey knew how to sling neck without biting his partner’s knob off. It hadn’t even occurred to him that that might be a danger, honestly. But now that it’d been mentioned, the idea of it sent a sharp bolt of fear through his stomach, and a shudder down his spine. His vulnerable dick, right up against those chompers?

“wuh? i bet that’s what _you_ want, isn’t it?” Barmey fired back. “why else bring it up, huh?”

“no one here brought up smokin pole till you came in. but uh, why don’t you ask and see, maybe? fuck around and find out.” Benrey patted at his lap again. Way closer to his crotch than necessary.

Barmey’s eyes darted between Benrey’s lap and his face. He should do it, if only to call Benrey’s bluff. Best case, maybe he’d get...he didn’t know. He couldn’t think past that point. And anyway, this whole situation was likely just Benrey playing around, making simple things ridiculous for no reason whatsoever.

Barmey huffed out a laugh that came out a lot quieter and breathy than intended. “uh, okay? benrey, c-”

“what? yeah?” Benrey interrupted.

Barmey pressed his lips together to re-gather himself. “shut up for a second and you’ll see.”

“‘kay.” Benrey clasped his hands politely.

“can i…” he swallowed and took another breath. Shoulders hiking up. Why the fuck was this so _difficult_ all of a sudden? Benrey shifted in his seat and spread his thighs open wider. “can i sit on your lap,” Barmey mumbled towards the floor. He could already feel his cheeks start to warm again. 

_“what?_ ” Benrey barked. “speak up.”

Barmey looked up and glared. Whatever. Whatever, it didn’t matter. Mindgames. He needed to stop acting like a bitch if he knew what was good for him.

He took a deep breath. “can i sit on your lap, benrey?” he asked in the most obnoxiously cute voice possible. He fluttered his lashes. “please? pwetty pwease, sensei? with ice cream and sprinkles and a cherry on top?”

“cherry _?_ ” Benrey snarked back at him. “whose? yours?”

“fuck off, you half-dead bastard,” Barmey easily replied. He couldn’t help snickering a little along, even if it had been at his expense. A riff was a riff. A little of the tension dissipated. 

“okay,” Benrey cut off both their snickering. “come on over, please. sit.”

Barmey’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he’s so scared of. It’s just Benrey. Even when he put on the big bad act, nothing terrible came of it. 

(Though of course, a small part of his mind whispered, that hadn’t always been the case. Remember when they first met and started living together? All the creepy shit he’d done? To this day, Barmey wasn’t completely sure that the whole “evil creature” thing had just been one giant bit.) 

Augh, whatever. Too late to back out now. He ended up with his ass on Benrey’s lap, his arm slung around Benrey’s shoulder and his feet on the cushions beside them. From this position, Barmey could stare down into Benrey’s face. Benrey stared right back, unblinking, saying nothing.

He was supposed to ask for something now. What should it be? He was tempted to make it something dumb. Turn the tables. Make Benrey stick hot peppers up his own nose, or let Barmey draw a dick on his forehead.

His thoughts were interrupted by Benrey rubbing his palm along the outer edge of Barmey’s thigh.

“what the fuck?” he asked, searching Benrey’s face questioningly. But Benrey kept staring straight ahead toward the game loading screen. 

“ask me to stop, then.” Benrey said tonelessly.

Barmey opened his mouth to do just that, then shut it. He turned his head away to look toward the TV screen as well. The game was still on pause. Same three second animation on a loop forever.

“how’d you and feetman meet?” he blurted out. The fuck? Where had _that_ come from?

“uh,” said Benrey after a long pause. The petting slowed. “he showed up to the test chamber with his dick out. tried to warn him.”

Barmey snickered at the mental image. “bet he took that well.”

“nope,” Benrey said, popping the ‘p’. “course not.”

“why’d you even want to be friends after _that_ type of introduction?” 

“never said i wanted to be friends. and i seen him around before that.” Benrey murmured, resuming his pace. His hand began to rub at Barmey’s back. “yellin’ funny stuff all day. always got his panties in a twist.”

“kind of like mine then,” Barmey said distractedly. The back rub didn’t feel half bad. “i’m surprised you didn’t just walk up and banter like i did. instead of, you know, waiting for his dick to flop out like a total forever alone guy. no offense.”

Benrey snickered. “yeah, he actually did tr- _i_ tried. before. but uh, i got other learnin’ stuff i had to do first.”

Barmey twisted the best he could, brows furrowing. “who do you mean by-”

“let’s watch a show instead of this bullshit,” Benrey interrupted. “uh. please.”

He flipped to the last used streaming service without touching the remote. “...prison school?” He muttered.

“not that one,” Barmey said hastily. He couldn’t watch that while sitting on another dude’s lap. Especially when said dude was still idly stroking his leg. Even he had limits.

So of course Benrey latched onto it. “why not?” he interrogated, already selecting it to play. The entire 32 inch screen was immediately filled by a close-up panty shot. 

“ooh. you’re a lil pervy boy,” Benrey stated, as if seriously answering his own question. His hand travelled back to his thigh, petting now heavier, more exploratory. His other arm came down across Barmey’s middle as the latter squirmed in his lap, effectively boxing him in.

“it’s a comedy series!” Barmey protested as on screen, a scantily clad school girl with boobs bigger than her head beat the protagonists with a riding crop. 

“comedy? then why aren’t you laughing?” Benrey asked. The hand that had been petting him settled at his hip, thumb brushing back and forth across the small sliver of skin that peaked out. 

Benrey’s fingers were colder than the rest of him, and that was saying something. Barmey hadn’t been totally joking with that half-dead comment. It tickled enough for Barmey to squirm again. 

“i _am,_ ” he giggled. It was true on technicality. 

The corner of Benrey’s mouth twitched up. 

But for the most part, they continued to watch in silence. Benrey stuck to feeling him up over the clothes with no noticeable pattern- across his thighs, hips, stomach, shoulders, back- never lingering long enough on more sensitive bits for it to be sus. Maybe it felt a little too good at times, but if Barmey did laugh, he always had plausible deniability that it was because of the show. 

By the middle of their second episode in, Barmey realized why this was a problem. He’d slowly but steadily been getting hot under the collar. Apparently, watching not-quite-hentai as a regular purveyor of the true thing was enough to get him up to half-chub. If Benrey noticed it, he didn’t say anything. But the innocent feel-up, which at first felt safe, now felt maddening. 

He cleared his throat. “you can stop with the hover hands now,” he said.

Benrey’s hands stilled. “huh?” he drawled.

“i know you want to touch me, so just cut to the chase.”

Benrey smacked his lips. “i am touching.”

“nuh uh,” Barmey argued back, though he steadfast kept his head turned toward the screen.

“want some skin action?” Benrey’s fingers skirted along the edge of Barmey’s shirt again. “too bad. gotta ask.”

Barmey groaned dramatically. “oh my _god._ durr, can yuh touch muh skin plox?” he asked, using a stupidly low voice this time. Make _Benrey_ feel dumb about this whole thing as well. That’s what it actually was anyway. 

There was a pause. On screen, Kiyoshi’s face was covered in beads of sweat as he thought through his plan of escape. Barmey chewed his lip.

“mkay,” Benrey said. Barmey made sure not to sigh in relief. It’d give him too much satisfaction.

Benrey expanded his petting radius to skin areas, but being Benrey, he chose the worst spots possible. Forearms, the tiny sliver between shirt and pants (and _only_ that sliver), cheek- the last one felt kind of nice, actually. But it wasn’t exactly what Barmey _wanted._

He grunted in annoyance, grabbed Benrey’s wrist and placed it firmly on his chest. “you know what i meant, dumbass.”

In the span of Benrey looking at his own hand on Barmey’s chest and breaking out into a shit-eating grin, Barmey realized his mistake. 

“want your titties felt up?” he asked gleefully.

“i meant the general shirt area,” Barmey hastily corrected. Too little, too late.

Benrey rubbed at one of his nipples through the shirt. It wasn’t hard to find considering their stiffness. Now that Barmey’s attention was on them, he noticed that they practically ached. Benrey’s rubbing was almost a relief. Almost.

Okay, cards on the table: before this whole thing had first started, Barmey hadn't been a total kissless virgin. He had Sally Macintosh from his fifth grade class to thank for that. And the last convention he’d attended had a late-night adults only rave where he got some grinding action, which _totally_ counted. But no one else had ever felt him _there._ Matter of fact, he was under the impression only girls’ nipples were sensitive. 

So he couldn’t be faulted for letting out a quiet whimper against his will. And it made sense that his dick- which had already been paying attention to the situation- started to twitch.

Benrey blew air through his nose in amusement. “oh, shit. you really do like this.”

“i never asked you to do that!” Barmey protested, too busy alternating between squirming away and squirming closer to give it much heat. Benrey held his hip firm with his other hand and was stroking the skin with his thumb again. 

“ask me to stop.”

Barmey pressed his lips together. _Damn_ him! He could’ve gotten out of this if Benrey forced him to ask for treatment. But asking him to _stop?_ This blows. He felt totally stuck. He really _was_ acting like a girl now. 

“go on,” Benrey pressed. Barmey turned his head back toward the screen. He felt fingers skirt to the other side. That felt even better, since the other nipple had been aching in neglect for longer, but Barmey at least had the foresight to keep his mouth shut around the next noise. He was starting to get louder than the TV, and there was another guy with dog-like hearing in the house. _Oh god, what if Feetman heard this?_ The idea of it made his heart beat double-time in his chest.

Benrey slipped a hand under his shirt and began to pet at his chest and stomach. Barmey couldn’t help his small burst of giggles. Felt weird. His hands weren’t quite as cold but Barmey felt so much hotter. He jumped as he felt breath at his neck.

“what if gordon saw yah now?” Benrey said lowly, as if reading his mind. 

“feetman?” he squeaked.

Benrey sighed loudly and tweaked one of his nipples instead of replying.

“mmph!”

“you moan in your sleep sometimes,” Benrey continued. His voice sounded distinctly breathier. “ _ugh, gordon, want you so bad!”_ he imitated poorly.

“that’s,” Barmey choked. His full body flushed once more in embarrassment. Benrey had _heard_ his recent all-too vivid wet dreams? Had he really been that loud? Had they -his dick throbbed as he shuddered from the shame- had they both been listening in? Mocking him? But dreams didn’t count, _everyone_ knew that! It’s not like you can control what goes on in them. Just neural impulses firing randomly, as Freemind might say. 

Maybe- maybe he shouldn’t think about him right now.

Benrey’s grip on his hip suddenly tightened. “tryna steal, maybe?”

“it’s not,” he felt the scrape of sharp teeth against his neck. The implied threat didn’t stop his dick from throbbing again. “not _your_ gordon,” he protested. 

“hm,” Benrey said, sounding unconvinced. He licked a stripe up Barmey’s neck. 

“ _benrey,_ ” Barmey whined, biting his lip. Benrey continued to mouth and carefully nip at his neck with those sharp, sharp teeth. This time when Barmey moved, he felt something distinctly hard pressing against his ass.

“yeah?” Benrey said huskily. He lightly wrapped both hands around Barmey’s middle and tilted them sideways. 

Barmey ended up on his back with Benrey looming over him, face still tucked against his neck. Benrey was breathing loud and heavily right near his ear, hands roaming wildly, roughly, causing his shirt to ruck up. 

Barmey shoved at Benrey’s face and shoulders, though the other remained as firmly planted as stone.

“yo, what the fuck? i didn’t ask for this!” 

Benrey’s hands stopped their movement before sliding up Barmey’s sides and then off of him completely to frame either side of Barmey’s head. Benrey lifted himself up enough to stare down at Barmey, face inches away.

Barmey took in the flush in Benrey’s cheeks, his parted mouth that had begun to drool, his blown out eyes studying him hungrily. He was struck with a sudden primal fear of facing something about to eat him alive. His chest tightened, stomach clenched, hips throbbed in terror.

“want this?” Benrey asked huskily. His breath puffed against Barmey’s face. He could see hints of his incisors. He swallowed heavily. 

Benrey leaned his face into Barmey’s neck again and inhaled deeply. Barmey shivered and flushed. His skin tingled. So close. So close to being touched again. His knees knocked together.

Benrey exhaled shakily. “i can smell it on you.” He bit at Barmey’s earlobe. “despera- _tion_.”

The next wave of shame was more of a lightning bolt. So close, this must be torture. “bro, _please,_ ” Barmey whined.

Benrey yanked at his hair. “please. _what?_ ” All traces of good natured goading were gone from his voice. He sounded downright mean. Almost frightening. Barmey gave a full body shudder.

“please- please touch me more,” he finally got out. 

“where?”Benrey tapped his fingers against his sternum impatiently. They felt a lot pointier all of a sudden. And Barmey could still feel the edges of those teeth right near his throat, oh God.

“um, uh, chest?” he tried. Benrey hummed and scratched down his chest and stomach. Tiny little pricks of pain that made his skin feel like it had caught on fire. His hip rose unthinkingly, catching nothing but air.

“neck,” he gasped when Benrey continued to do little more than breathe against it. Benrey hummed at that. “not- not biting too hard,” he added quickly when the nipping resumed with heightened frenzy. He wouldn’t be able to take it. He’d probably spurt right in his shorts. “maybe um,” jeez, what a time to stutter. “mouth? like, like k-kissing?” He felt another rush of shame from asking. His dick was getting so hard it hurt.

Benrey, who had mouthed at the bite marks exactly once, paused his ministrations. “kiss?” he repeated, sounding positively delighted. He began to turn his head with clear intent

“on the neck, kiss _on the neck_ ,” Barmey squeaked. Stupid as it was, proper kissing felt like it should be- he didn’t know. More special? 

Benrey complied. He also made it a whole lot harder not to moan continuously, especially when Benrey’s hands started to languidly roam across his chest again. With claws and without, a maddening alteration of pleasure and pain. As Benrey settled down against him, and with Barmey’s shirt rucked to his armpits, the cloth from his hoodie brushed against his over-sensitive skin.

Benreys fingers dragged lower and lower, but never did more than dip teasingly below Barmey’s waistband. Worse still, he was doing some dumb baby gay stupid noclip cheat to stop Barmey from pressing his hips up against anything.He bit at Barmey’s skin warningly when he wiggled too much, until Barmey was stuck lying back, dick aching against the cloth of his shorts with no relieve whatsoever.

“please touch my dick,” he whined. Benrey smiled against him. “ _pretty_ please,” he begged.

“kinda uh…” Barmey groaned in relief as Benrey finally, _finally_ slipped his hand beneath his waistband to palm at his length. “kinda easy for your first time,” he lilted. Barmey groaned in frustration when his hand didn’t move and he did more of that moron fail noclip shit. 

“can you move your hand?” he ground out.

“admit it first. you a lil tho _t_?” Benrey cooed.

“fine, whatever!” Barmey whined. His face was starting to break out into a sweat. 

Benrey nuzzled their cheeks together. “say ‘i’m a total slut, benrey,’” he sang in a mock valley girl accent.

“i’m- i’m a total, mmmph. guh,” Benrey wrapped his hand around him. “a slut. i’m a, a total slut, benrey, benrey please,” he continued to chant as Benrey _finally_ began to stoke him, rough and near dry. The pressure was building quickly after no relief for so long.

He nearly wailed when Benrey leaned down to bite at his nipple, hips bucking desperately back into the hand.

“shit, i’m gonna cum,” he barely managed to choke out. He could feel a new rush of heat rushing toward his hips, legs stiffening, mouth popping open, eyes crossing as he concentrated.

Benrey wrapped a hand around the base of his dick and squeezed. _Hard._ Barmey really did wail this time. It hurt, hurt so bad he felt like teetering over the edge, but not quite-

Benrey’s mouth popped off his nipple. “ _ask,”_ he reminded.

Barmey felt a fierce surge of frustration so strong he could feel his face start to crumple and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath. 

“Plea-ease,” he sobbed. “ _Please_ let me cum.”

“hm,” Benrey pretended to contemplate looking off into the distance. Barmey sniffled and glared at the side of his head.

Benrey’s eyes rolled to look at him. “no.”

He let go of Barmey’s weeping length. Pulled his hand out of Barmey’s pants completely and sat up.

Barmey stared up at him in outraged disbelief. He was joking, right? Torturing Barmey a little more?

“benrey, bro, come on,” he tugged at Benrey’s clothes in an attempt to drag him back down. “please i’m, i’m sorry?” he tried.

Benrey didn’t look at him, seemingly totally disinterested, even though his cheeks were clearly still flushed and he’d been unsubtly grinding against him not a moment earlier. “huh? sorry for what? you didn’t do nuffin."

“then why are you leaving?! why won’t you let me- augh! benrey!” Barmey punched his fist against the sofa. 

Benrey rose to his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He turned a little away from Barmey and shrugged. “don’t feel like it,” he lilted, before gliding off in spite of Barmey’s shouts after him.

Barmey let his head fall back against the couch with a frustrated huff. On screen, the main character got kicked in the head.

So what? Barmey thought angrily as he spit on his palm and took himself in hand. He’d been so close anyway, he didn’t need anyone else to make him cum!

Ten minutes later, he realized that he might, in fact, need someone else to make him cum.

He let his dick go and draped a hand over his eyes, panting. Mega suck! Should he even bother trying to find Benrey? If that bastard made him beg only to give him nothing again, he swore to God…

“Hey,” a voice came from above. “You _good_?”

Barmey lowered his arm and looked up to find a smug-looking Feetman. He didn’t have the energy to feel or act embarrassed. It was just the dog.

“You don’t look it,” Feetman continued in that faux-concerned tone of his. “You sort of look like a _mess.”_ The last word came out more like a growl. 

Come to think of it, Feetman didn’t just look smug. He looked _hungry_. Barmey realized that he must be quite a sight with his shirt mostly off and his hard dick out and against his stomach. He was flushed. Leaking. Panting. 

The worst part was, he knew that Feetman could take care of him so easily. He’d jerked off from a front row seat to Feetman licking at Benrey’s fat hog as if it’d been slathered in peanut butter. He’d got an even closer show of Feetman’s force and stamina. But he couldn’t recall Feetman looking at him quite like _this._

He whimpered and rolled his hips, dick bobbing in the open air. The feeling of Benrey’s tongue action was still fresh in his mind, and he felt he could better picture a tongue... _there_ instead

Feetman licked his lips. His tail wagged a little. 

But Benrey’s threatening grip and warning against theft shattered that fantasy. He couldn’t do that. Basic guy code, bros before hoes. And anyway, it would cause too much drama in the house. He might die with no Barney here to stop shit from going too far.

He slowly, regrettingly, rolled to face the couch and away from Feetman. 

“fuck off,” he spat.

“Really? You don’t want any help with that?” he laughed.

“go away. sniff out your _boyfriend_ out or something.”

Feetman made a sound of understanding. “Who do you think mentioned you were down here like this in the first place, dumbass?”

Feetman dragged a hand down his bare back. Uh...huh. Barmey peeked back over his shoulder at him. Feetman was also red faced and panting, he realized. And when he looked lower, he found him sporting and obvious boner through his slacks. He cautiously began to turn back over.

Feetman made a noise of impatience and pushed him back the rest of the way by the shoulder. 

“Want this shit?” He said hurriedly as he clamored on top of Barmey. He pushed his panted down low enough to whip out his hard, flushed dick. “Wanna uh, wanna do-?” 

He pressed himself down until his dick rubbed against Barmey’s. Barmey’s eyes shot all the way open and he moaned. That had felt _incredible._ He rolled his own hips up to try and get that feeling again.

“Yeah?” Feetman muttered lustfully as he looked back up to make eye contact. Barmey nodded his head rapidly. Feetman wrapped his hand around both of them and did it again. And again, and again, that wet slide within the warm, tight confines of his grip.

It wasn’t long before the pressure built up again toward that agonizing peek. 

Feetman panted excitedly, hard and fast like he always did when he was about to cum. The sensation was so overwhelming that Barmey had to squeeze his eyes shut. His voice got so raspy and deep by this point, it really _did_ sound like- don’t think about it. He’d probably nut all over Barmey’s chest and stomach, fuck, he could feel his knot start to inflate as it hit against the base of Barmey’s dick. The tension in his balls growing tighter and tighter. There was always so much of it, it was going to happen, Feetman cumming all over him after _using_ him, humping against him like a pillow or a sex doll just to get his rocks off-

Barmey let out a whimpery, shaky moan of frustration as he reached his peak. Something was stopping him from tipping over!

He heard a deep growl and shuddered against Feetman as he gave a final thrust. He peeked his eyes open. Through blurry vision he could see Feetman try to catch his cum into his own hand, though some of it still dribbled down onto Barmey’s stomach.

He must have made another noise, because Feetman looked up at him and grinned, tongue lolling out. 

Seriously?! Barmey consciously made a noise to convey his anger over being left hanging. 

“Oh, do you-?” Feetman pointed at Barmey’s dick. “You want that taken care of?”

“ _Yes,”_ Barmey managed to snarl. He was on the literal verge of tears.

“Did you uh,” he smacked his lips. “Get permission, by chance?”

He couldn’t process what was happening right now. “ _Huh?”_

“‘Cause I did,” he continued as he not-so-subtly wiped his hand off on Barmey’s shorts. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I can do anything else for you here. I think Benrey might’ve cast a penis curse to stop you from cumming or something! I don’t-”

Barmey stared in disbelief, mouth agape, as Feetman got up again with a satisfied groan and tucked himself back into his pants.

“Thanks again, though. Go- go ask Benrey about it again or something,” he said as he quickly exited. “I’ll put a good word in for you, okay? Don’t even worry about it. Bye!”

Barmey stared into space. The emotion he felt was indescribable. He couldn’t think. 

He took in a very deep breath.

“BEN...REEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!” he shrieked.


	12. MEANWHILE...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barney comes to a startling revelation

When Barney woke up again, it was so dark he could barely see the ceiling above him. He could gather he was in a bed that wasn’t his, but the events of the past afternoon had not quite rushed back to him yet.

When they did, he slapped his hands over his face and groaned. He must be just about the dumbest son of a bitch on the planet.

“What was I _thinking?_ ” He cursed, scrubbing at his cheeks.

“Good question,” another voice said from right beside him. Barney turned his head to find a single, shining eye staring right on back.

Barney wasn’t much of a screamer in stressful circumstances. But he might have shouted a tad as he swung his fists out and propelled himself back by his heels in an effort to get away from whatever _that_ was. He ended up in a heap on the floor with his legs tied up in the blankets for his troubles.

“Oh, my God,” the voice grumbled. The bedside lamp switched on. Barney found himself looking up at Freemind’s glaring, pissy face peeking out from over the side of the bed. His ears were pointed out and his tail was waving behind him. “Keep it down, will you? It’s 3 AM.”

His tongue had about as much venom as a rattlesnake’s, but all things considered it could’ve been worse. After what Barney had put him through, he was half surprised Freemind hadn’t murdered him in his sleep. 

“What do you want?” Barney demanded, eyes darting around for potential weapons. Just because he wasn’t dead _yet_ didn’t mean Freemind didn’t have plans for him. “Where’s Freeman?”

Freemind settled himself down onto his stomach and pillowed his chin on top of his folded arms. “Gee, I wonder.” he smirked. “What do people usually do at this hour? Besides party and fuck, I mean.”

Sleeping, of course. Part of Barney felt relieved that he didn’t have to face his friend again just yet. He didn’t know what he would say. “And I s’ppose your visit to my bed is merely due to your feline predilection for the nocturnal?” he drawled.

Freemind sneered. “Those are some fancy words you’re using there! Don’t try and show off on my account, Calhoun.” 

“Fine,” Barney said flatly. He began to untangle himself. “What do you want?” 

“As you might have noticed by this point, you aren’t dead,” he began.

“Could be I’m in hell,” Barney interrupted. “Haven’t parsed it out yet.”

“Yeah, very funny. Keep interrupting me and I’ll help you compare and contrast.”

Barney grunted but said nothing further. He deeply regretted leaving the stun stick in the car, that’s for certain.

“You know, you have a real nasty attitude toward me for seemingly no reason. We literally just met _today_ , and you couldn’t go ten minutes without wrestling me to the floor to show off your dominance like a primitive caveman. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say it was a combination of...I want to say testosterone-motivated performance for your crush, and animalistic lust for me? It’s fine,” he said louder as Barney opened his mouth to argue. “Really, I get it. I was irresistible before this whole catmaid debacle. The added features would reduce _any_ pervert’s brain to a pile of mush.” 

Barney wasn’t sure what irked him more: Freemind’s stated implications, or the fact that he was mostly right. Emphasis on _mostly._

“Which brings me back to my original point. There’s one of you in my universe too, right? The one who,” and here his voice dropped into a looney parody of Barney’s, “ _thinks the world of me!_ ”

Barney squinted at him. “That’s right,” he said cautiously. His gut told him he wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“I need intel,” Freemind said bluntly.

“Intel…?” Barney repeated. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with him.”

Freemind clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that was before your feat of strength for Freeman,” he said impatiently. As if Barney should have already connected all the dots with the scant pieces of information he’d given. “Silly me, the thought occurred to me that someone who’s skilled enough to survive Black Mesa on his own _and_ obsessed with me might require further investigation.

Barney smirked as he pushed himself up to his feet. He was now looming over Freemind, who was wearing what looked to be wearing a rather...short, bow-y night dress, the satin robe over it barely preserving any modesty. His let down hair held away from his face by a headband with a big bow right on top completed the picture. Just when Barney thought he was getting used to it, Freemind had to go and dress even more ridiculous. With the cat features to boot, it was somehow as cute as it was highly disturbing. 

“Oh, I get it,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “One taste got you sweet on the Calhoun charm, huh? Test drive made you reconsider gettin’ yer own?” 

Freemind’s pupil narrowed to a slit as he drew himself up to his knees, chest puffed. “I wouldn’t describe myself as _sweet_ on you right now,” he hissed. “Watch yourself. But I’m hardly surprised you immediately leapt to the wrong conclusion. I mean, with _that_ type of deductive reasoning, it’s no _wonder_ you’re a college drop out!” 

Barney was quickly losing any dregs of regret he’d been holding. “Keep runnin’ yer mouth and I’ll ask you to leave my room real polite-like exactly _once._ ” He ran the statement through once more. “And anyway, how did you know…?”

“How did I know that?” Freemind hopped to his feet on the bed, once more gaining the high ground advantage. He threw down a manilla file folder onto the bed with a nasty smile. “Research, of course! I’ve been _busy_ while you were sleeping off that hangover, believe you me. _Aaallll_ the dirty deets about your- and by extension, _his_ \- life I could find.” He began to pace along the mattress, hands clasped behind his back, tail raised high. “But then I realized that it wouldn’t be enough.”

He turned on his heel and pointed at him. “There are major differences between me and the other two Gordons, even if we’re all practically identical on paper! There’s no reason to assume it wouldn’t be the same for _y’all_ , now would it?” 

Barney reluctantly voiced his agreement. Once again, he was correct on these accounts, even if it was in the most infuriating way possible. 

“Furthermore!” Freemind raised his finger up like he was in the middle of lecturing a class. “This guy worked in the same facility with me for...how long, exactly? How extensive are his own notes? What _weaknesses_ ,” he hissed the word, ears going further back. “Could he have deduced while I had my guard down? You see, Barney,” he marched right on over to Barney, standing right at the edge. Looking down his nose at him. Barney decided that if Freemind started jabbing him in the chest, he was going to suplex him. 

“I’m not really _comfortable_ with that. I don’t want to be worried about getting domed by a stalker with that good of an aim because I had the presence of mind to put a lock on my underwear drawer. I have enough problems already. Even _you_ probably figured that much out. So in exchange for _not_ killing you, you _will_ tell me everything I want to know about him. _And_ , you’re going to tell me all the things he might know about _me._ Capiche?”

The look Freemind was aiming at him was a familiar one. Barney had seen it on Freeman many times- a mixture of determination, bull headedness, and just a touch of manic excitement. It was almost enough to stop Barney from laughing. But the idea of _Barmey_ as some evil obsessive serial killer hunting Freemind for sport just cracked him up too much. Most he could do was slap a hand over his mouth before he got too loud.

Freemind growled. He grasped the collar of Barney’s sleep shirt (and hold on, how had he gotten into it?) and used his hold to shake him back and forth. _“Is this a fucking joke to you, asshole?!”_

“No,” Barney managed to choke out through exhausted laughter. “I’ll talk if it’ll get you to leave, sure. Can’t promise I’ll tell yah everythin’, but I’ll answer what I can. Now let go of my shirt, you’re stretchin’ the collar.”

Freemind released him in clear disgust and turned his nose up. “You’d _better._ ”

\--

They ended up at the kitchen table in what felt like a bizarre sort of parlay. Freeman had brewed some coffee before heading to bed, according to Freemind, and while Barney didn’t fully trust it he definitely needed the caffeine. The thought of Freeman adding that sort of touch of care warmed his heart. Maybe he was just too much of a sap. 

“-and so the entire academic model as it stands is just one big pyramid scheme. _Fortunately_ the courts recently reclassified grad students to be workers, so they have the right to unionize. But, I don’t know how successful that’s going to be? I sort of feel like there are too many factors to take the wind out of a union’s sails. Chiefly among them is that the departments that bring in the most grant money tend to skew right-wing. At the very least, it’s going to take years, if not decades, of organizing. Add the fact that big name private schools almost certainly have connections to Pinkertons on top of their own separate school police force raring to crack some egghead skulls, the likelihood of a campus-wide strike isn’t really-”

“This is real interestin’ and all,” Barney cut in when Freemind finally took a breath. “But what exactly does it have to do with that information on Barmey you wanted?”

Freemind paused mid-word, eye rolling around as he contemplated the question. “Fine,” he agreed. “I can see that the weight of my wisdom in gold is worthless to those with deaf ears. Down to business.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers as Barney tried to figure out what the fuck he’d just said. 

The only light in the kitchen came from a single lamp above their heads. Freemind reached up and pushed at it so it was swinging from side to side. It cast a ghastly pattern of shadows across his face.

“What are… _Barmey’s_ capabilities?”

“Not much,’” Barney deadpanned. 

“Not much…” Freemind repeated slowly. “I don’t believe that for a second. _You’re_ clearly capable enough to be a survivor,”

Barney shot him a winning smile and raised his brows. “Well, thank you kindly.”

“ _Within a very narrow range of skill,_ ” Freemind continued in an angry voice. “Jesus Christ, and _I’m_ supposed to be the one who never shuts up? Anyway, it stands to reason that if I’m the best Gordon, he’d be the best Calhoun. You can’t trick me into underestimating him _that_ easily.”

Barney could feel his headache get worse and took another long sip of coffee. There’s that dedicated stubbornness apparently common among all Gordons. Freemind’s looking for evidence to back up his pet theory, so trying to assure him that Barmey isn’t a threat wasn’t the right move. Maybe it would be better to just list off traits he was almost positive Freemind would see as impressive. Barney could believe that he wasn’t dumb enough to run straight on into an opponent he’d know he’d lose to- when he wasn’t too hopped up and emotional, that is.

“You’re right to assume his aim is good,” he said carefully. “Quick trigger finger. Pretty skilled in making explosives- worryingly so.” Freemind hummed at that. “Fairly calm under pressure,” the more stressful moments of the house’s first (and only) prank war came to mind. “...perhaps too calm, sometimes. But,” he hastily amended when a dark look crossed Freemind’s face. “He’s _real_ loyal,” to all the wrong people. “Passionate about his interests,” if his collection of merchandise and figurines were anything to go by. “Uh...creative problem solver?” He was real creative when it came to getting out of doing any work, that’s for sure.

Freemind held up a hand to stop him, gaze sharp and calculating. “This isn’t a fucking job interview,” he said. “I understand that he has the potential to be dangerous. But I can tell you’re holding something back. I’m not sure I can trust your word on that anyway. Let’s stick to what he knows about _me_ for now.”

Barney shrugged. “Well shoot, I don’t know what to tell yah. Not sure you’d be satisfied with that either. Barmey really does just think of you as real smart and competent. And funny, for whatever reason.” He mumbled the last part, taking another small sip of the coffee to better hide his lips.

“I _am_ funny,” Freemind agreed with a purr. His ear twitched.“Not my fault if it goes over most people’s heads.”

“He...has a lot of stories about you two. From what I can gather, you’ve yelled at him a lot in the past without even realizin’. He uh. Beat you in a race once at a company picnic, ‘ccording to him-”

“THAT WAS _HIM?_ ” Freemind slammed his hand down on the table so hard that it shook. “Oh, _now_ I remember him…” he growled. His tail puffed and started to go crazy. “Little asshole wouldn’t stop rubbing it in my face the rest of the day. If I were a little more sober and Kleiner wasn’t there to hold me back I swear to _God_ I would’ve destroyed him.”

Barney rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Figured it might’ve been somethin’ like that.” 

But he remembered the shine that would appear in Barmey’s eyes whenever he spoke of it, the excitement in his voice, the praises he’d sing about the ridiculous, mean man who sat before him. Something about it tugged at his heartstrings. Or maybe he really was still too tired. He took another sip. 

“I was serious before, though. He... _really_ likes you, Freemind.” He tapped the table for emphasis and tried to catch Freemind’s eye to convey the full implication of it all. Even if it wasn’t his place to outright tell. 

Freemind exhaled loudly through his nose and stared down at the blurry reflection in his own mug. “No one ‘ _really_ ’ likes me,” he said quietly. “Either he’s lying, or- hey, how’s that coffee?”

Barney looked down blearily and realized he’d already drunk about half of it. “‘S fine,” he said. 

Freemind smiled at him, suddenly looking a lot more predatory. “Excellent,” he purred. Alarm bells started going off in Barney’s head, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to act on it. He slid a piece of paper across the table toward him. “But there's no need to take your word for it. Let's gather some preliminary data, shall we? I took the liberty of finding a blueprint of your house online. Do me a favor and mark down any extra fortifications you might’ve installed and where you keep your weapons.”

Barney chuckled as he did so. _Why not?_ His brain was telling him. “You plannin’ an invasion?” 

“This is more of a just-in-case type of thing. I like being prepared for emergencies now that I’ve experienced the Black Mesa fuck up.” 

“‘Spose it makes sense it’d be as hard on you as it was for Freeman,” he mused. “Though it’s a fool’s errand as long as we’ve got Benrey around.”

“The fuck is a ‘Benrey’?” 

“Uh,” Barney’s eyes widened. Shit. Why had he mentioned that? The fewer people who knew about Benrey’s powers, the better. He cleared his throat. “That’s what we call Feetman’s Barney.” 

Freemind made a dismissive noise. “Please. From the little I’ve gathered Feetman was lucky enough to have a whole entourage of old men to do all the dirty work for him. Didn’t hear anything about a guard doing jack shit.”

Now that Barney was paying attention, something was _definitely_ wrong. He had to consciously fight himself not to spill the beans right out on the table. Even then, he _just_ managed to stop himself. Was it the coffee? He shot it a glance. Damn it! He was so slow on the uptake! One more sip and it might’ve been over!

He slid the paper back without another word. 

Freemind was studying him closely, tail lazily waving behind him. “Feetman and Benrey, huh?”

“Yeah,” Barney practically spit out. He bit his tongue straight after to keep from saying more.

“Hm. And you and Freeman?”

Barney was beginning to sweat from the tension. A piece of hair flopped down over one of his eyes. His muscles kept relaxing too much. He glared up at Freemind the best he could, though his vision occasionally went out of focus. “What do you _want?”_ he growled out.

“Aw man, are you fighting it? I barely gave you anything at all,” Freemind complained. Petulant and whiny, like a child whose prank went wrong. “It’ll metabolize in no time. I just want the truth, that’s all. _Relax._ ”

He couldn’t stop relaxing if he tried. Stupid.

“ _As I was saying._ You ‘ _really’_ like Freeman?” Freemind twirled at his hair sarcastically. “Dearly devoted dog, playing along with his games?”

“I like his games,” Barney blurted out. He could feel his cheeks warm. “They’re fun, I like- I like makin’ him smile, you know?” 

That answer seemed to piss Freemind off more than anything. “But you didn’t know him that well before all this, right? You don’t _know_ him.”

“Psh. I knew him well enough.”

Freemind rolled his eye to the ceiling. “Another one caught by a pretty face,” he said, seemingly to himself. The next look he shot Barney was accusatory. “I don’t believe that. You just like him because he doesn’t talk! It makes him look innocent. If he could voice his thoughts the way _I_ can-”

“He can speak well enough with his hands,” Barney argued. “And anyway, what’s it matter to you? Yer actin’ like he’s your teenage daughter and I’m her date to prom.”

Freemind let out another one of them demonic-sounding growls. His claws dug into the wood of the table. “Listen, asshole. I’m doing you both a favor. You don’t like _me,_ but I’m _him_ ! Don’t you get it? He’s just crafted a better mask because he wants to waste his time with- _pleasantries_ ” he spat. “ _Diplomacy._ What a joke. If you can’t stand the sight of what’s underneath, then you shouldn’t bother at all.” 

He became more and more animated the longer he went on, until he had risen to standing by the end of it. “Stupid fucking…” he heatedly muttered under his breath as he started to pace around. Barney wished he was in a better state of mind to either prevent injury, or say something scathing. He wasn’t currently sure which would be better.

“Thinks he’s Mercutio or some shit- okay, riddle me this then!” He looked triumphant. “You’ve been living with Feetman for a while now, _right?_ ”

“Yeah?” Barney answered, perplexed. 

“He seemed pretty polite when he first dropped by, didn’t he? Maybe a little on the anxious side?”

Barney didn’t like where this was headed. “Yeah…”

Freemind pressed his hands flat down on the table and leaned in. The shadows covered most of his face but Barney could still make out the grin. “And now?”

It must be the drug making him suggestible, but Barney sat back and thought- _really_ thought about it. The steady increase of snarky commentary, his rampant games of near-abuse with Benrey, his increasingly condescending attitude when talking to Barney as if he were a small child, the obvious joy in teaming up to bully Barmey…

He’d thought it was just due to the dog disease. What if he’d given too much benefit of the doubt to the man who shared his... _Freeman’s_ face?

“Shit,” he said, stomach sinking. 

Freemind nodded along. His grin had turned nearly manic. “Thaaaat’s right,” he said triumphantly. “He’s a no-good bastard, isn’t he? Whiny, aggressive, manipulative, _mean._ You don’t _really_ like him. You just haven’t realized it yet because of good first impressions.”

Barney furrowed his brows. Something didn’t...something about this wasn’t quite right. Sure, Feetman had his flaws, but he wasn’t completely _hateable_.

“It’s because he’s me,” Freemind finished, like a lawyer wrapping up his stated case. He was breathing heavily at this point. “He’s not as _great_ as I am, but we’re the same. _And so is Freeman._ The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll both be.”

Barney studied him for a moment the best he could given the circumstance. “Why’re you doin’ this?”

Freemind took his seat, leaned back, and spread his hands carelessly. “My rule in life is to look out for number one. That just happens to include two more people as of late.”

Barney stared out into the distance in thought. He considered the overlaps between him and his doppelgangers. So very different, looks aside. But their souls held the very same cluttered puzzle pieces jammed together...

He swallowed after another moment. Clumsily rubbed at his chin. “I know Freeman a whole lot better than I know you,” he said slowly. “He’s an upstanding man. Quirks an’ all. Maybe his actual train of thought is rougher, I dunno. But hell, no one’s perfect. Anyone who sets the bar that high’s a damn fool. Even you.” he gestured at Freemind, who cocked his head questioningly. “I reckon you’d stop beatin’ on yerself if you aimed a lil lower.”

Freemind blinked. 

“Shut up,” he growled. His ears flattened against his head.

“No...no,” Barney said more firmly. His facilities were starting to return to him. “You’ve twisted it backwards. I _know_ there’s good in him. So there must be good in you somewhere too. Maybe I am just a dumb guard, but it’s what I believe! Benrey’s got to think that about Feetman deep, _deep_ down, bless his black little heart. And- and you got a person who believes in _you,_ don’t you get it?”

“Shut. _Up._ ” he repeated. He was trembling with rage, lips had pulled back from a grin into a terrible snarl. “You don’t know. _Anything._ ”

“Why you scientists always got to make simple things so complicated, I’ll never know.” Barney sighed. “Anyway, I’m…” he trailed off.

Something horrible was clicking into place.

Benrey. Feetman. Barmey. Alone. If he’d overestimated Feetman’s moral fortitude...if he wasn’t going to pull the brakes like Barney assumed he would if things got too far…

He stumbled to his feet. “My God,” he said with dawning horror. “Barmey…! I’ve got to- I’ve got to leave,” he almost tripped on his way out back toward his room. “I need to stop them-! Tell Freeman I’m sorry, shit, this might well be an emergency!”

He never felt so frazzled so quick. It damn near gave him vertigo. Barmey deserved a lot of things, but being left trussed up in a lion’s den wasn’t one of them. For fuck’s sake, his forum posts would suggest he’d never done _nothing_ before. If he knew Benrey-

(And he did, because Benrey’s _him,_ the nasty side of his mind snidely reminded him)

-then he’s not sure the kid would survive such a shock to his system.

He left Freemind to sit alone in silence at the kitchen table. 


	13. Weekend at Barney's, pt 2 (Benrey/Barmey/Feetman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, folks! Comedy comes in threes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I should add a warning here...this chapter revolves around the mean type of domming. No real pain play but quite a lot of wholehearted bullying and degeneration lies in store for our favorite barmy 4channer. If that's not your thing or not what you were hoping to see you might want to skip or skim over those parts.

Feetman nearly doubles over in wheezing laughter as Barmey‘s enraged screaming rings through the house. He might’ve fallen over entirely, were it not for the fact that he was currently trying to run up the stairs. He barely made it back to his and Benrey’s room in one piece. 

“You should’ve seen his _face,”_ he snickers to Benrey, who is ostentatiously sprawled out on his own bed with his head slightly cocked and his eyes trained on his phone. He raises an arm up and Feetman cuddles up under it without a second thought. His tail thumps hard against the mattress. “He straight up looked like he was about to lose it!”

Benrey rubs his fingers against one of his velvety ears without looking up. “nice.”

Everything was going according to plan. When they first started this new game, Benrey had seemed content to just fuck around until things got more than suggestive. But Feetman had figured, why stop there? If he was- if _they_ were- going to completely wreck Barmey, why not make the procedure a little bit more structured? Almost like an experiment, if you will. It’s not like it’s _really_ bad if it’s Barmey. He’s into it, so it’s fine. He’s not sure why he was so torn up about whether doing this made him a bad person when this whole thing started, honestly. The more Benrey sicced him on Barmey through the week, the longer Feetman got drunk on that addictive scent of fear and anticipation, the more it made perfect sense. Benrey was his, and if he and Feetman were both marking Barmey, well.

Didn’t that make Barmey _his,_ too?

And yes, he knows that from a technical standpoint, Barmey should belong to Freemind. But that cat-eared asshole wasn’t here right now, was he? If he wanted to yowl and jack off and piss on other people’s belongings all day, he shouldn’t complain when others moved in on his property. Feetman wouldn’t call himself spiteful, but he was still mad about said ‘pissing all over his clothes’’ thing. Some of those articles had gone through the wash five times, and they _still_ stunk! Who _does_ that?

It’s not like he forced Benrey to put that cockring penis curse on Barmey, either. He’d brought it up as a joke, and Benrey had agreed that it would be a really, really funny thing to do, get Barmey all hot and bothered and desperate for it but denying him release. And sure, it’d be even funnier if Feetman could do that to Benrey instead, but he couldn’t picture Benrey agreeing to that. Not without extracting some tit-for-tat price, anyway. Their balance was still a delicate one. 

He slides a flattened palm from Benrey’s knee up to the obvious bulge in his pants. “How long do you think we have until he storms in here?” he asks teasingly. 

He gives said bulge a light squeeze. Benrey exhales loudly through his nose, locks his phone before Feetman can properly peek at what he was looking at, and slides it back into his pocket. 

“if you’re droolin' over my pupperoni that much, go for it.”

He scritches at Feetmans head, hand wandering until it rests heavily on the back of Feetman’s neck. He’s not holding him there, exactly, but the touch still makes something flutter in Feetman’s stomach. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t. It should be the opposite, Feetman holding Benrey down by the back of the neck.

“Hey, I was just offering to do you a favor, man,” he replies with a playful bite in his voice. He lifts his hands up placatingly. “If _you’re_ not hungry for it, that’s perfectly fine.” 

Benrey cackles and grasps Feetman’s wrists with bone-chilling speed. He flips Feetman back onto the mattress before he can even fathom the possibility of fighting back. His breath catches in his throat. All he can do is stare dumbly up at Benrey’s dangerous smile and glittering eyes.

“i’m _always_ hungry,” Benrey growls. He leans in and licks a long, wet stripe from Feetman’s collarbone to his cheek. Every part of Feetman stiffens. _Every_ part of him. 

It’s unfortunate that all he can do is let out a quiet, high whimper. But his hindbrain had detected a stronger predator much too close. It forces him to freeze. 

“aw, poor puppy,” Benrey coos as he guides one of Feetman’s hands under the waistband of his tracksuit pants. “don’t worry, i won’t eatchu up,” he breathes against the side of Feetman’s ear. He lets go to squeeze the most of Feetman’s ass that he could in their current positions. “ _yet._ ” 

Feetman’s stomach plummets at the same moment that his dick throbs. Images of their positions reversed unwillingly flit through his head. His tongue darts out to lick at the tip of his nose. 

Benrey fucking him good and hard was a little…he didn’t want that. Logically, he knew that whoever bottomed wasn’t ‘lesser’ than the top in any way. Of course not! It just seems a little _too_ intimate is all. Sure, unpleasant tensions might have dissipated somewhat now that they were working together to torment Barmey. That didn’t mean they were anywhere close to _that_ stage of their relationship. Especially since they weren’t even in a relationship to begin with. Call him a hypocrite all you want. He doesn’t care. 

He wraps his hand around Benrey cock and begins to jerk him off with quick hard strokes. “Not ‘yet’?” he dares to growl back. “How about not ‘ever’.” 

They lock eyes and peel back their lips to bare their teeth at each other. Their mouths clash, tongues sliding hard along one another, Benrey feeling up and squeezing whatever piece of Feetman his hand happens to land on. 

“how bout _not_ ‘not ever’,” Benrey slurs. He grabs at the back of Feetman’s thigh and pushes it back with alarming ease. 

Feetman ignores the fluttering feeling in his lower belly. He growls again and bites at Benrey’s lower lip warningly, pumping his cock faster-

Barmey kicks the door open and storms into the room, face red and twisted, clothes rumpled as if he had barely taken the time to re-dress himself. 

Feetman and Benrey pause their ministrations to look at him. 

“ _Benrey,”_ Barmey snarls as he approaches. It’s laughably like a vengeful rabbit storming up to the entrance of a snake’s den. Rather than sense the basic mood, or apologize, like a normal person, Barmey straight up hauls Benrey off of Feetman. He grips Benrey by the front of his shirt and shakes him back and forth. Benrey doesn’t react to any of it. He doesn’t even tuck his dick back into his pants. 

“you really cursed my dick? bastard! undo that shit!” 

Feetman’s never been happier for an interruption in his life. 

He takes advantage of the moment to full body pounce onto Barmey. Barmey has the advantage of a lower center of gravity and actual wrestling experience, but he’s obviously too angry and distracted to focus on fighting technique. He goes down like a sack of potatoes. Feetman is on him, snarling, drool dripping from his teeth, claws ripping through his shirt before he fully hits the ground. 

“Haven’t you learned basic manners?” he growls, maneuvering himself until he’s straddling Barmey’s chest. He pushes down on his shoulders until he’s laying flat, Feetman’s face looming over his. “I’m half convinced you’re too dumb to know how to knock. Or are you back for seconds already? ” 

Barmey goes silent, eyes rounded, breathing heavily. The scent of his arousal is already strong. Right, he likes when people get mad and mean. Same as Benrey. “I think some more punishment is in order,” Feetman continues, tapping the back of his hand against Barmey’s cheek in the facsimile of a slap. A future promise in case Barmey’s considering acting up. 

Barmey’s tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip. He presses his cheek back against Feetman’s hand. He locks eyes.

“bitch,” he spits. 

Feetman grins and backhands him. Not hard enough to bruise, but with enough force to make him yelp. 

“Push your tits together,” he orders impatiently, raising himself up enough to fumble with the button of his jeans. Barmey slowly raises his own hands up to cup at his chest, but his head is turned to look at Benrey pleadingly. Feetman grabs him by the chin to turn his head back. 

“No, don’t look at him,” he says lightly. “Benrey’s not going to help you.” 

Benrey’s sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread, shamelessly stroking himself. “fucked up,” he says accusingly, but he fails to hide his grin. His dark eyes glitter. “real mean of you. kinda bad.”

“Oh, what, you’re the judge of morality now?” Feetman shoots back. 

Benrey’s arm speeds up. “wuh? i’m just saying a fact. why’re you getting so defensive?”

Feetman barks out a laugh. “I’m not defensive- I said _push your tits together,_ yeah, that’s it,- I’m not getting defensive. I just think you of all people don’t have a right to judge. _Hah_.” He slides his rapidly filling dick between the plush crease in Barmey’s chest. It’s not huge- just a gentle swell of fat over his pecs with a smattering of hair between them. But it feels nice enough for him to lol his tongue out and give an experimental thrust. The point of this isn’t to fuck the parts of Barmey that feel the best, anyway. 

“You like that?” He pants, scowling down at Barmey’s rapidly flushing face. “Like when I use you like a toy?”

“yuh,” Barmey moans in confirmation. He’s craned his neck to watch Feetman’s length piston against him. Feetman starts to hump hard enough to jostle the body beneath him. 

"Gonna cum all over your fucking face,” Feetman gasps. The heady power is starting to make his head fuzzy, pressure rapidly building at the base of his knot. His tail is wagging hard.

“he’s really gagging for it,” Benrey’s voice is a lot closer than Feetman expected, and it nearly makes him lose his rhythm. He’s appeared by Feetman’s shoulder and moves closer to kneel by Barmey’s head. “stick your tongue out, please?”

“noooo, don’t make me drink your jizz again,” Barmey moans, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Don’t act coy with us,” Feetman growls. His thrusts are becoming erratic. “It’s _obvious_ you love it.” Another burst of Barmey’s arousal hits his nose. 

“thought you wanted the curse broke,” Benrey adds. He strokes himself right over Barmey’s face. “healing potion, comin’ up.”

 _That’s_ a new rule. Feetman can’t help laughing in surprise, but quickly composes himself. “You want that?” he lilts. “Gonna jizz in your shorts from two guys painting your face, you little slut?” 

Barmey chokes at that and keeps his lips parted. His eyes stay shut. 

Feetman huffs impatiently and pulls at Barmey’s lower lip. “S-stick your tongue out for Benrey,” he growls, mindlessly rocking against his chest. He could feel his knot swell, it was cumming, he’s about to cum-

Barmey finally lays his tongue out flat into the open air right as Feetman shoots his load all over his neck and chin and mouth. Benrey finishes with a low groan, cum splattering onto Barmeys lips and tongue. Barmey’s tongue retracts. He swallows.

The effect is immediate. Barmey shudders and moans under Feetman, brows furrowed,his already flushed face turning beet red. He cums with a loud cry and goes limp, panting hard.

Feetman rolls off of Barmey as soon as he’s finished weakly humping against his chest, riding the waves of his own orgasm through. Barmey’s hands might’ve fallen to his sides but hey- the underside of his dick still enjoyed it. 

He tucks himself back into his pants, mindful of his still-sensitive knot.His tail’s wagging lazily behind him.

Benrey swipes cum off Barmey’s cheek with his fingers and promptly sticks them into Barmey’s mouth. Barmey moans weakly and sucks on them, too cumbrained to care. 

“good boy,” Benrey coos at him.

Something in Feetman’s chest twinges. His tail stops.

He’d thought _he_ was Benrey’s good boy. 

He doesn’t realize he’s whined until Benrey looks at him and smirks. “got a problem?”

Feetman scowls. “No,” he snaps. Whatever, it’s fine. Benrey’s just trying to get a rise out of him, same as always. And even if he meant it, Barmey isn’t a threat. He's lowest on the totem pole. Feetman shouldn’t worry. He’s not dumb enough to have a problem with it.

A few hours later, as he’s lying in bed cuddled up next to Benrey, eyes wide open and body tense with stress, he admits to himself that he might actually have a problem with it.

God fucking damn it.

He knows it’s petty jealousy, but that doesn’t stop the dark pit in his chest from continuing to twist. What’s he even going to do about it? Complain like a little bitch? Whine to fucking _Benrey_ about needing to be his number one special boy? It’s sad and pathetic, even for Feetman. Bringing it up would be a bad idea. Like, sure, Benrey likes him back. _Like-_ likes. He knows this. Admitting it to himself still causes his chest to reflexively tighten, but he’s on his way to fully accepting it. 

...But did that really mean he wouldn’t like _other_ people at the same time? Was Barmey _really_ off the table? It’s not even outside the scope of normal human attraction. Everyone’s a little bit narcissistic. That’s a fact. Anyone who claims they wouldn’t fuck their own clone is lying. And come to think of it, he can’t picture either of those two caring even if it _is_ abnormal. Barmey’s openly admitted to preferring “2D waifus”, for fuck’s sake. Benrey’s an alien. They're both already thirsty for someone who's half-man, half-dog. Social convention won’t stop those two from going at it if that’s what they want to do. 

And Feetman'd actually be okay with that. He’s certainly okay with putting himself in the middle of a Calhoun sandwich. He's marked them both enough.The scenario shouldn’t be a problem.

But on the other hand, wasn’t that just a step away from developing actual feelings in the first place? Isn’t that how this whole thing with Benrey first started? Sex causes a bunch of hormones and chemicals to be released. That’s basic science. So if this continued, and the three of them get more and more intimate, couldn’t the two of them…? 

“stop thinking so loud,” Benrey grumbles. He wraps an arm around Feetmans middle and pulls him close. Feetman yelps in surprise. He’d gotten so lost in his own head that he forgot Benrey was even there.

“...Sorry,” he murmurs. Maybe Benrey’s right. Thinking himself in circles over stupid neurotic hypotheticals because he’s jealous of _Barmey_ wouldn’t do him any good. 

He closes his eyes.

He wakes to an empty bed.

He follows his nose to the kitchen. Both Benrey and Barmey are at the kitchen table already. With no Barney around to cook, breakfast apparently consisted of cereal right out of the box and a half-burnt plate of Eggo waffles. Lovely. 

He takes his seat and chooses a waffle. He feels two sets of eyes boring into him and looks back up.

What’s their deal? Benrey looks dangerously expectant, and Barmey’s face is pink and pinched.

“..Good morning?” he guesses.

“good morning,” Benrey singsongs back.

“hi,” Barmey says in a strained voice.

Feetman doesn’t want to deal with whatever these two are up to on an empty stomach. He takes a bite of his waffle and winces. The parts that aren’t burnt are still frozen. 

“nice weather we’re having,” Benrey lilts. One of his hands is shoved into his hoodie pocket, Feetman notices. That arm shifts. “right, barmey?”

“ye-eEAH.” Barmey answers, voice jumping up an octave in the middle. He slams his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the plates and glares at Benrey.

“I know you two are acting weird,” Feetman says, tossing his waffle aside with a sigh. Cereal it is. “Is it too optimistic of me to expect- wait.” His ears perk up. “What is that noise?” 

There was a buzzing noise that he’d initially attributed to a kitchen appliance, but it’d gotten louder. And was likely much closer.

Barmey goes bright red. “noise?” he squeaks.

Benrey turns his head away to hide his face. “what? what noise?” 

Feetman’s already risen from his seat in an effort to locate it. “Shut up. Don’t- no gaslighting at the breakfast table.” He scolds Benrey distractedly, circling the table. “I’m pretty sure that’s a house rule…” his voice trails off as he comes to stand over Barmey. The noise is definitely coming from him.

Barmey stares back up at him with rounded eyes. He’d begun to sweat. “can i help you?” he says in a strained voice.

“Yeah…” Feetman crouches and leans in to better pinpoint it, and Barmey leans back. Feetman catches a strong whiff of his scent. “Are you...horny?” he asks in disbelief. His gaze travels down to Barmey’s crotch. He tries to cover it with his hands all too late.

“wow,” Benrey pipes in. “that doesn’t sound like it’s allowed. looks like you’re breaking the law, barmey.”

There’s an almost indiscernible click, and the buzzing noise gets louder still. Barmey gasps. His hands shoot out to grab at the edge of the table, body leaning forward in a vain attempt to hide the bulge in his pants. 

“no,” he protests.

It’s fairly obvious what’s going on at this point. Feetman grins. “No?” he repeats. “You sure you don’t have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Barmey shakily rises to his feet. “i don’t like being accused for no reason,” he announces. “i’m leaving.”

Feetman hands shoots out and grabs him by the hair. He bends him over the table. Barmey’s cheek lands inches from his bowl. 

“woah,” Benrey comments.

Feetman grabs the waistband of Bamey’s shorts and pulls them down to his ankles. “What’s this?” he asks, feeling past his cheeks to find the end of the vibrator he’d already suspected was there. “Care to explain yourself?”

Barmey is stubbornly silent. Feetman gives his ass a smack. He’s got enough cake for his cheek to jiggle.

“it’s not my fault!” Barmey bursts out. “you bastards lied to me! my dick’s still cursed, and benrey said, he threatened he wouldn’t cure it again unless i…” Feetman smacks his other cheek, just because he can. “OW! quit it! unless i wore this stupid thing to breakfast, it’s all his fault!” 

Feetman looks up and raises a brow at Benrey. “This true?”

“wuh? y- no. i dunno what he’s saying.”

“Hmm,” Feetman pretends to deliberate. He grasps the end of the vibrator and begins to slowly pump in and out of Barmey’s lube-slick hole. Barmey lets out a cry of surprise and grips the table harder. 

Barmey’s a patsy, that much is clear. He _could_ call Benrey out. It wasn’t as much fun as playing along, though. And unfortunately for Barmey, the dregs of his late night worrying were still sticking to the edges of his thoughts. It was making him feel a lot less sympathetic.

“I guess you thought you were being really sly, trying to get off in secret right in front of us. And at the breakfast table, Barmey? Really? Right in front of my salad?” He angles the vibrator toward his best guess of the spot that would make Barmey shout louder. His tail wags a little when it proves to be correct. “You really are a desperate whore. And now you can’t even finish with your dick still cursed.” He taps his chin. “What to do...Benrey?”

“huh?” Benrey shoots him a distracted look. He’s blatantly playing with the clicker that controls the vibration speed. His mouth ticks up every time he gets Barmey’s hips to jump. “uhhh yeah. fucked up.”

He hadn’t thought ahead to potential punishment, clearly. Feetman can’t help but feel a tad irritated. “Okay,” he says patiently as he continues to pump his arm. He’s almost entranced from the rhythm of Barmey taking it in so easily. “You know what? I think humiliation and blue balling is already pretty suitable. I _guess_ if no one here has a set plan we can move on to you working for the- what did you call it? Magic potion or something?.” He thrusts his hips against Barmey’s thigh to punctuate his point. 

“please,” Barmey sobs. Feetman’s tail wags a little harder. He lets go of Barmey’s hair. 

Benrey pushes his chair back with a grunt, fast enough for the chair legs to screech against the linoleum. “welp,” he says, reaching into his pants to fish out his dick. “you the boss. come and get it, lil boy.”

Barmey slides to the floor and over to Benrey’s dick so fast it’s almost comical. 

“Sure! Go and do that, then!” Feetman says, throwing his arms up in resignation. 

Benrey sure was intent on getting Barmey to suck his dick...and leaving Feetman to sleep alone so he could no doubt insert that vibrator…

Feetman wants to give Benrey the benefit of the doubt. And Barmey isn’t trying to steal Benrey from him, right? He’s got it bad for Freemind. Only a shortsighted fool struck dumb with jealousy would think otherwise. And Feetman is _not_ that type of person.

But he’s not going to just stand here and watch like a cuck, either. He’s still a player in this game. He circles to stand over Benrey so avoid seeing the victorious smirk the other no doubt wanted to flash at him. 

Of course, when Barmey takes him in hand and attempts to go down on Benrey, a new, obvious problem arises.

“teeth,” Benrey hisses. Barmey makes a sound of confirmation and promptly scraps him with his teeth again. Benrey winces hard and yanks him off by his hair.

“no,” Benrey scolds him like a bad dog. What a thought. 

Feetman’s tail gives a singular wag. He can’t help himself. He needs to join in. “No! No teeth, Barmey!”

“i’ve never done this before,” Barmey complains. Feetman makes a big show of rolling his eyes and huffing. “why can’t you just jack off and cum in my mouth like last time?”

“you want me to do all the work? lazy boys don’t get rewards.”

“Not going exactly the way you planned, is it?” Feetman can’t help but snidely cut in.“Looks like you’ll have to instruct him.”

Benrey grumbles to himself. It’s Feetman’s turn to smirk. “Need some help directing him? I don’t mind. Just say the word.” 

“no it’s fine, i actually wanted it to be like this in the first place sothereisn’tanyproblem,” he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“He scraped again, didn’t he.”

There’s a beat of silence. “help direct the lil boy, please?” Benrey finally asks in his security guard voice, as if it had been his idea to conduct it this way all along.

It’s still a point for Feetman, and they both know it. “Sure thing,” Feetman says cheerfully, giving Benrey’s face the slobberiest lick he can manage before gracefully dropping to his knees beside Barmey. 

“Wrap your lips over,” he instructs, demonstrating himself. Usually, Benrey was the one sucking _him_ off, but it’s not like he’s completely selfish about returning the favor. If that meant reading up on techniques and mimicking instructional videos to ensure he himself didn’t get roasted the first time he tried, so be it. It was literally worth it to see the look on Benrey’s face.

Barmey mimics him well enough. “Good. Now next you have to lick at the tip.” He sticks out his own tongue and leans in. Benrey makes an amused noise that makes him pause. “What?”

“what are you doing? i only said ‘direct’.” Benrey lilts. “want some of this that badly? bad dog gonna steal a bone?”

“I was just going to teach by example,” Feetman snaps, cheeks warming. 

“well i don’t mind,” Benrey mimics, shooting him a sharp-toothed, shit eating grin. “just say the word.”

Feetman takes a moment to press his lips together and breathe through his nose. _That little shit,_ he thinks. In truth, he’s privately elated that Benrey’s still trying to challenge him. No way in hell he’s going to let Benrey know that, though.

“guess barmey might slob on my knob alllll by himself,” Benrey continues. “gettin’ his fluids all up on it.”

It’s Barmey’s turn to shoot him a shit-eating grin, a flat-toothed duplicate of his double’s. Feetman growls low in his chest. Fuck this, actually. If Benrey wants to shoot himself in the foot and win himself a _worse_ blowjob, then that’s on him. In fact, he’s happy he doesn’t have to suck Benrey’s cock! It’s not like it was the most pleasant meal on earth or anything. He was only trying to help. He’ll win in the long term when Benrey realizes how much better Feetman is at this in comparison. 

“Fine,” he spits. “Go on and lick the tip, then.” 

Barmey does so well enough. His eyes turn up toward Benrey, searching for approval. Benrey pats his head. Something ugly in Feetman’s chest twists. He presses his face into Benrey’s skin on his own accord and breathes in his musk. Wants to ride that heady scent so he doesn’t have to think.

“Lick along the shaft,” he says roughly. Barmey gives some kitten licks and it’s- it’s a little cute. Feetman’s getting whiplash from this constant oscillation of wanting to kick his ass and wanting to fuck him nice enough to make him curl his toes. 

“Longer licks. Think you can manage that much?” he snaps. Barmey obliges but flips him off with his free hand. Feetman curls his upper lip up to bare his teeth. Back to ass kicking it is.

He continues to instruct him on sucking the head, how to play with the foreskin, how to slowly take in as much as he could handle without gagging too hard by pressing his thumb into his fist. He can begrudgingly admit that Barmey’s doing an okay job by the end of it. Okay enough for Benrey to moan and not-so-subtly shove Barmey’s head closer to his stomach in tiny increments. His aroused scent thrums through Feetman, making his own dick twitch and swell and he wants nothing more than to take himself in hand but he knows that he shouldn’t. Knows it’ll be considered a loss.

He just needs to sit still on his knees with his head fixed inches away from Benrey’s fat cock and Barmeys wet, drooling mouth and watch. It’s causing every muscle in his body to tense so the point of shaking. It’s miserable and denigrating and he absolutely can’t cum untouched to this. He’ll never hear the end of it.

Benrey grunts louder and clicks the button in his hand until Feetman can hear the vibrator from where he’s sitting. He grabs Barmey’s head still and lets out a loud, low groan as he cums down his throat. Barmey makes a similar-sounding moan around his cock. His dick spasms and cums right onto the floor. 

Feetman growls louder as the rival scent hits his nostrils. He all but grabs Barmey off Benrey’s dick by the hair and shoves him back until his face is inches away from his cum puddle.

“That’s how you thank us? Huh? Making a mess?” He forces Barmey’s face down closer to before. “Clean it up.” 

Barmey lets out a sob and trembles, possibly overstimulated by the vibrator still going in his ass, but does what he’s told. His eyes are clouded over as he licks his own mess off the kitchen floor. He’s clearly more than a little bit gone. Feetman’s dick twitches as a rush of power flows through him. This one really did what he was told, huh. No backtalk once he’s totally put in his place. He palms at himself. Barmey’s ass is already slick with lube, he wonders if he could...

Benrey makes a noise behind him. He turns his attention to find him idly massaging at his softened cock. 

“he’s not bad,” Benrey says. “i uhh. kinda like ‘em sloppy anyway.”

That’s right, Feetman suddenly remembers. He has something more important to do before he can even consider mounting Barmey.

He pulls Benrey down from his seat with a wordless snarl and forces him on all fours. Shoves his pants down so quick that he hears a tear. Benrey’s already made himself slick, as always, so Feetman wastes no time taking him right there on the floor. Pounds into him right in front of Barmey because he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, he _wants_ Barmey to see him wrap his arms around Benrey’s chest from behind and thrush as deep in as he can go to the internal mantra of _mine mine mine mine_ until his knot ties them together and he fills him to the brim.

\--

Things got a little wild after that.

He’s not completely lucid for a lot of it. He’s pretty sure it should be impossible to have as much stamina as he does, but maybe it’s another type of alien magic spell on Benrey’s part. He remembers bits and pieces. Barmey was made to lose all his clothes at one point, and could only crawl around on the floor. Lots of stretching his hole with toys and plugs. Seeing what made him squirm. Biting. Scratching. Making him practice with his mouth on Benrey and Feetman both, then Benrey on Feetman, then Feetman lost his clothes too, him rutting against whoever and whatever was closest in reach, and he’s _pretty_ sure both him and Barmey were licking at Benrey’s cock at the same time at one point. They moved from room to room in the house, as if determined to personally mark every surface. 

But he snapped out of it when they entered Barney’s room.

Feetman can dimly recall Barney saying something about keeping it to Benrey’s room, but he _specifically_ forbade entry to his own room. In fact, he must have locked or booby trapped his door somehow, because Benrey took the extra effort to teleport them inside of it. It felt _extra_ taboo, somehow, and that realization sent shivers down his spine. His scent was so _strong_ in here.

Barney clearly wanted to be the alpha of the house. Marking this room would cement the new hierarchy Feetman had formed in his head, and baby- "Gordon's definitely coming up on top!" 

“oh, what’s this? you’re the boss?” Benrey snidely cut in. He and Barmey had already made it to the bed “we got the uhhh ceo of fuckery over here.” 

Guess he’d said that last part out loud. “Yeah, what of it?” Feetman shoots back, ears turning a quarter of the way back. The only way to salvage this was to lean into it. “I _am_ the CEO of fuckery, actually. What are you _doing?_ ” 

Benrey was leaning over the side of the bed. He slides a plastic bin out from under it. From this bin he pulls a length of soft fibrous rope.

“What is that?” he demands.

Benrey looks at the rope, then back at Feetman. “it’s rope,” he deadpans.

“I realize that it’s rope. I’m asking what you’re doing- don’t tie him up!” Benrey had started the process of binding Barmey’s arms in front of him. 

“what? why not?”

“yeah, why not?” Barmey croaks. His voice sounds raw. 

If the thing Feetman suspects is going to happen, happens- if the plan is to pop Barmey’s cherry on Barney’s bed for a triumphant climax- then bondage during his first time is- not good. He’s become clear headed enough to recognize that. 

“you’re ruining the mood,” Benrey complains when Feetman pulls him aside. “what’s your problem?”

“Are we fucking him in here?” Feetman asks in a lowered tone, shooting a glance at Barmey over his shoulder.

Benrey crosses his arms. “maybe. so what?”

“How do I explain this,” Feetman pinches at the bridge of his nose under his glasses and regrets it immediately. There’s definitely something extra smeared across his face now. “We shouldn’t...it’s wrong to restrain him during his first time like this!”

Benrey wrinkles his brow. “how come?”

Feetman presses the palms of his hands together in front of his face as if in prayer. “ _Because,_ ” he hisses, struggling to keep cool. He’s not sure why he’s getting so wound up about this so quickly. Of _course_ Benrey wouldn’t understand the complex interplay of emotional dynamic that came with being penetrated. “It’s- look. Humans aren’t like you, alright? They have real feelings-”

“ _what?_ ” Benrey loudly interrupts. 

Feetman shushes him “Listen! Someone’s first time is like. Intimate, and vulnerable, so if you’re not careful you can really fuck someone up emotionally! And yes, I know it’s an archaic concept, alright, I’m not talking about anyone’s inherent value or lack of thereof after they have sex, but the fact remains that- look. Just. We should take it easy Barmey’s first time, alright?” 

Benrey’s been staring at him as if Feetman had been explaining quantum mechanics to him. “what are you talking about? you’ve been yapping about fucking him into the ground _all day._ ”

“That was just dirty talk,” Feetman snaps. He’ll choose to believe that’s all it was, anyway. “This is the _actual_ deed.”

“well, i don’t think he’ll mind,” Benrey pushes past him. “i think he’ll like it. not everyone needs that first time bleurgh bluh bluh soft lovey dovey crap. _i_ didn’t with you. ‘s not like you asked, either,” he mumbles the last part under his breath.

Feetman feels his heart jumps through his chest. “What do you mean, ‘you didn’t’?” he asks Benrey’s retreating back. “Hey! You mean _our_ first time, right? Benrey?” 

But Benrey seems intent on ignoring him. “sorry bout that,” he tells Barmey as he takes hold of the rope again. “feetman’s on some mad bullshit, fuckin’ up the vibe for no reason.”

“it’s cool,” Barmey responds, fist bumping the best he could with the state of his hands. He shoots Feetman a glare. “what’s your problem? i can’t get to the ahegao zone if you keep ruining the mood.”

Feetman raises his hands defensively. “I was just- you know what, man? If you want to lose your v-card trussed up like a Christmas turkey, good on you. I won’t ‘fuck up the vibe’ to check in on your well being again.”

“good,” Barmey says smugly as he leans back to let Benrey bind his legs to his thighs. “‘cause no offense, but you were acting pretty gay.” 

Feetman knows better than to argue that point with Barmey specifically. “Is there a gag in that box?” he complains. 

Benrey slips a blindfold over Barmey’s eyes. “nah, i want to hear him. stay, boy,” he holds out a hand as Feetman draws closer. “i gotta warm him back up now. wouldn’t want you to fuck it up again.”

Feetman grouses to himself and crosses his arms, but he stays put. It just figured that he’d be put in the doghouse for trying to be nice. No one ever appreciates the amount of effort it takes for him to be good. He doesn’t know why he bothers. 

Since he’s stuck standing at the foot of the bed, Feetman takes this moment to fully admire the both of them. His gaze travels the expanse of Benrey’s chest and belly and thighs. The sight never got old. Soft looking but firm with heavy muscle underneath, and smattered with a light peppering of dark hair. He lingers there for a moment before moving to Barmey. Feetman had seen him mostly nude before- a lot more than he might have liked, considering his stubborn insistence on wearing a towel between his room and the bathroom. 

Still, now that he could directly compare the two, their resemblance is striking. Barmey had the same sort of security guard physique, good amount of muscle under an even layer of fat. Same lazy and careless posture. Same face. Shaggier, less tangled haircut, no deep dark undereye shadows, more facial hair. A thicker thatch of unkempt hair on his chest, another on his rounded stomach leading almost teasingly to his flagging erection.Which...was also pretty similar to Benrey, Feetman could admit. Aesthetically, it was nice. Pleasantly plump, like the rest of him, if perhaps a little bit shorter than his doubles’. Altogether, he’s different enough to provide a nice contrast.

His own dick casually pipes up to contribute that it would look super hot for the two of them to kiss, but that just brings him too close to the rabbithole which was his own complex exchange with Freemind. He shoves it away.

It turns out he doesn’t have to try to distract himself from that thought for too long, because when Benrey next opens his mouth the tongue that furls out is way, _way_ longer than usual. Feetman openly gapes as Benrey leans down and wraps it around Barmey’s dick. Oh God, it’s prehensile? And the way it was rhythmically squeezing around him, making Barmey shudder and moan, it...looked like it would feel _really_ good, honestly. Feetman can’t help but feel another twinge of jealousy. Why hadn’t Benrey ever pulled that out for _him_? 

Benrey’s new tentacle tongue continues to wrap and squeeze and slide around Barmey’s dick until he’s a red, shuddering mess again. Feetman can’t do anything but watch. He’d been told to stay. He could disregard the order, of course, but he’s already almost ruined things once. 

Benrey unwraps his tongue and pushes Barmey down onto all fours. His reason for bringing it out becomes more clear when he pulls the plug out of his ass with a pop and promptly shoves his tongue inside. Barmey shudders harder, his voice raising higher and the tentatongue no doubt squirms and presses against his inner walls. Feetman feels himself clench sympathetically. Doesn’t that feel _weird_?

“f-feels weird,” Barmey confirms. “it’s- _ah_ \- sensitive, and he’s-” he arches his back and groans, legs spreading wider on their own accord. “shit, shit, shit, _shit, shit,_ ” he babbles. It’s a nice sight, and their combined aroused scents are already making Feetman’s mouth water. 

“mmph!” Benrey pushes his face flush against Barmey, and Barmey cries out again and shivers. The base of his new freaky tongue’s thicker, Feetman suddenly remembers. He presses one of his fangs against his lower lip. Benrey grips Barmey’s hips tight and starts to motorboat his head. Barmey screams and bucks under him, dick now looking painfully hard and slick with pre, scent of pure want to cum. He wants to cum so badly from Benrey stroking and pressing inside of him until he figures out what makes him squirm the most and Feetman’s _rock_ hard suddenly. The blood’s rushed to his dick so quickly that he feels dizzy.

Benrey extracts himself from Barmeys hole and dispassionately looks over his sweating, gasping, trembling form. The man looked absolutely wrecked.

His tongue curls back into his mouth, and he seals his lips. When he parts them again, it’s back to normal. “looking good,” he appraises. “think we’re ready for some double trouble. c’mere boy.”

Feetman’s tail wags. Yes!! Back in the game, baby! He doesn’t bother hiding his excited panting as he clamors onto the bed. The only one who seems happier about it is Barmey, who’s already got his mouth wide open in waiting.

Feetman and Benrey share a look.

“hm. seems a little desperate.”

“He _smells_ desperate,” Feetman adds, feeling vicious. “Maybe he should beg for it.”

Benrey’s eyes light up. “cool idea.”

Barmey doesn’t put up much of a fight before begging. He begs real pretty for it, too. Feetman can’t blame him much. He must be getting pretty exhausted.

Feetman decides to be nice and orders Barmey to keep his head still and his mouth open wide. He moans in relief as he started to shallowly thrust into it. “Yeah. Just like that,” he roughly orders.

He’s just getting into a nice rhythm again when Barmey yelps suddenly and Feetman feels that irritating scrape of teeth. He growls and yanks Barmey off by the hair. “Are you fucking with me?” he demands. 

Barmey tilts his head up toward Feetman, tear tracks already falling from behind the blindfold. “no,” he sniffs. “fucking benrey didn’t- guhaaahahaha-” His mouth opens wide to pant hot against Feetman’s skin.

There’s that wet sound again, this time accompanied by the artificial scent of lube. “seems like you can take two _real_ easy,” Benrey says casually, as if discussing the weather. He’s making a twisting, thrusting movement with his wrist. “have another.”

Barmey cries out and trembles at that. He lowers his head until it’s pillowed on top of his forearms, ass still presented up in the air. “oh god,” he chokes as he rocks back into Benrey’s hand. “benrey-”

“good, right?” Benrey pets at Barmeys hip with his other hand. “describe your good time for the puppy, please?”

Feetman’s mouth goes dry. “You don’t have to,” he protests. 

“feels- good-” Barmey pants. “s-stroking, he’s- fuck, he’s fucking-” his voice peters off into a squeak and he burrows his face into his arms to moan. 

Benrey’s arm speeds up, the noises becoming incrementally louder. Feetman doesn’t care for the fact that he’s studying him while playing Barmey’s ass for a fiddle. It makes Feetman flush deeper.

“That’s...cool, man,” he says dumbly. He clears his throat. “Anyway I’m just gonna...hold your mouth open, I guess.” 

Feetman jams his fingers into Barmey’s mouth without waiting for an answer, but the other doesn’t seem to mind. Now he can thrust in now without worry. He groans as he slides in as feels the wet muscular flex of Barmey’s tongue against the underside of his dick. “Way better,” he sighs, gently grabbing onto the sides of Barmey’s head. He doesn’t realize how far in he’s going until he feels the spasm of his throat against the head of his dick. “Oop, sorry.”

“keep going,” Benrey growls.

He’s changed the tempo of his own thrusts. It takes another moment for Feetman’s clouded head to catch on to the fact that he’s trying to match it. Time it right so Barmey’s simultaneously entered at both ends. Feetman clenches his jaw and forces himself to slow the roll of his hip despite the burning in his thighs. Slides to the entrance of his throat to make Barmey choke at the same moment that Benrey buries his fingers into his other hole to the third knuckle. Barmey’s moan’s have melded into one long, continuous noise, punctuated by occasional gasps and shudders. 

“Ah, I’m gonna cum,” Feetman gasps, tilting his head back and giving a harder thrust. “You want that? Right down your throat?”

Barmey makes an enthusiastic noise and pushes his head forward in a weak attempt to swallow more of him. Feetman can’t help but give a condescending chuckle and pets at Barmey’s hair. “Such a good boy, using your mouth right for once,” he coos condescendingly.

Benrey stops his arm’s movement. “you sure bout that?” he cuts in.

“What?” Feetman snaps back. If Benrey blue balls him right now he swears to _God._

“if you feed him the juice it’s done.”

Feetman’s hips slow. He squints at Benrey. “ _What?”_

“he cums too. you want that? so soon?”

Feetman stops his movement completely and struggles to think it through. Barmey begins to make angry noises around him.

“didn’t know you were that much of a sa _p_ ,” Benrey adds, ending on a playful click. There’s an implication in there that Feetman can’t quite put words to. All he knows is that he doesn’t like it. He glares at Benrey and pulls out. 

Barmey wails and screeches loud enough for Feetman to be thankful that they live in the middle of nowhere. His attempt to lunge at Feetman is pathetic at best. Maybe Benrey had been right about the whole tying up thing.

Benrey grabs him from behind and pulls him close. “calm down,” he murmurs lowly against Barmey’s ear. “trust the plan.”

Barmey reluctantly allows himself to be lowered back down onto all fours, fists clenched, chest bellowing. Feetman hides a quick smirk behind the back of his hand. He shuffles over to Barmey’s other side when Benrey motions him over. 

“got somethin’ better for yah than digits,” Benrey lilts, rubbing at Barmey’s lower back. “lil bitch like you should lose that v-card _real_ nice.” His voice ends in a growl. He guides Feetman’s hand to cup one of Barmey’s soft, round cheeks. Plush enough for Feetman’s claws to make indents with the slightest of pressure. Barmey shivers.

Well, okay. He’d assumed Benrey was going to be the one fucking him, in all honesty. But Feetman doing the deed _could_ be a good idea, the more he thinks about it. His dick certainly agrees, but his dick is aching enough to agree to anything at this point. He can see that Barmey’s hole is slick with lube and open, practically waiting for him to hump him into the mattress and fill him with cum. Make Barmey his personal cock sleeve for real. He licks his lips hungrily. Takes hold of his dick, shuffles closer, and…

Benrey clasps a hard hand around the back of Feetmans neck and holds it there. It causes Feetman to instinctively freeze. He looks at Benrey questioningly. 

Benrey looks back, blank faced. He holds up a knotted dildo, already dripping with lube.

Feetman crams his fist into his mouth to stop his surprised laugh from reaching Barmey’s ears. “Where did you get that?!” he wheezes.

“the bin,” Benrey replies.

Feetman’s eyebrows travel up to his forehead. Barney’s bin? _Barney_ ?! This raises so many new questions and implications. Not that Feetman would sex shame him about that, Barney just, he doesn’t know, didn’t seem like the type? He means- there’s no such thing as a type when it came to this, obviously. But for fucks sake, the _knot._ Why-?

“stop teasing,” Barmey whines, wiggling his hips impatiently. “you guys are so mean to me.”

Right. He can rotate that tidbit of information around later. There’s a more important issue at hand. “Why the _fuck_ would I use that instead of my dick?” he hisses.

Benrey cocks his head, eyes dangerously black. “didn’t think you’d prefer to do that.”

Feetman stares back, and his heart... his throat tightens, all of a sudden. That reason is so blatantly, obviously bullshit. It’s _Benrey_ who’d prefer that Feetman doesn’t do that, he’s sure of it. Benrey cares. Which he can comprehend, on some level, not wanting Feetman to mark Barmey inside like this. Or at least, he could, if Benrey really wanted to fuck him and mark him as ‘his’ instead. But he didn’t want that, either, and it’s- strangely touching. 

Feetman looks away, blinking rapidly. Why were his eyes stinging? Stupid. Of course he’d been worrying all this time for nothing. He already knew that. Still, he feels like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders. He nods once, firmly. He can do this. Back into character. Three, two, one, fuck it. 

“So impatient for it,” Feetman croons, pressing the thick head of the dildo up against his waiting hole. “Ready to get filled.” He presses harder against the tension, until there’s a sudden give, and the head slides smoothly inside. Barmey chokes and bites into the flesh of his forearm. He flexes his thighs. Feetman continues to shallowly thrust in and out.

“muh!” Barmey demands, pushing his hips back against the dildo.

“More? You want more?” Feetman repeats mockingly. The next thrust sinks in another inch. “Here you go, buddy!”

Benrey had been silently watching the show from beside him. But as Feetman continued to thrust the dildo in deeper with long, steady strokes he growls and shuffles behind Feetman. Feetman nearly squeaks when Benrey wraps his arms around Feetman’s middle and maneuvered his body more to his apparent liking. Lifting him up high and knocking his legs open wider, a better facsimile of the position Feetman would actually be in if he were actually fucking Barmey.. It lasts a few minutes at most, but to be handled like that made a heat pool in his lower belly. Especially when he can feel Benrey’s dick pressed flush against his back, below his tail. He focuses most of his attention back to keeping the rhythm. Wouldn’t want Barmey to think anything was amiss. 

But Benrey seems content to stay wrapped around Feetman and not so subtly grind his dick against Feetman’s ass. Feetman swallows. He starts to fuck Barmey with the dildo harder, deeper, dead set on forcing out the loudest moans he can as a form of distraction. Barmey’s taken it up to the top of the knot so well. Maybe he really _is_ a good boy, Feetman thinks deliriously. 

The extra effort begins to take its toll. He pants with exertion, feeling himself heat up further. The deadweight behind him certainly isn’t helping. He leans down to hover over Barmey’s scratchmark-ridden back, damp with sweat. He feels Benrey wrap a hand around his dick and moans in relief. But Benrey doesn’t start stroking. He holds Feetman’s member closer to his belly, and too late Feetman realizes he was in danger of having his actual dick hit the back of Barmey’s thighs. 

It’d be hard to explain away, sure, but couldn’t Benrey give him a hand at the same time? He snarls in frustration.

“he must be getting close,” Benrey lilts. Feetman can feel the vibrations against his back. “ready for the knot?”

Barmey makes an enthusiastic noise of assent and lifts his mouth off his arm. “fuck! yes! fill me!” he gasps.

Feetman feels a twinge of guilt, but before he can examine it too closely he feels a heavy hand clamp against the back of his neck and push him forward until he’s flush against Barmey back. Another hand (a third?!) grasps Feetmans forearm and pumps it at a faster, harder pace. Benrey’s hips rock against his ass, shoving him against Barmey and back in quick, sharp increments. Feetman can’t move on his own. Can’t do anything but pant into Barmey’s ear and listen to his moans and the slapping of skin as Benrey puppets him. 

The knot pushes and pushes and finally breaches. Barmey goes stiff as a board as the knot sinks in, panting quickly, mouth hung open and drooling onto the sheets. 

“ _Haaaaaaaaaaah,”_ he moans, and shudders, and waits to be filled with cum that’ll never arrive. 

And Feetman is stuck to his back, panting hard too, trembling and frustrated in his total helplessness. Absolutely _crazed_ with arousal. If Benrey wasn’t controlling him, he’d rip that poor imitation of a knot out and fuck Barmey for real. Or Benrey. Or a hole in the floor. Anything. Anything. 

He feels himself being pulled back and off of Barmey. He’s pretty sure Barmey says “wait, what?” but he can’t be certain. His front might be free but Benrey’s still holding him behind and he wants- _something._

“something?” Benrey breathes heavy against his ear. Come to think of it, was he usually this tall? The mattress creaks loudly.

Feetman whines and nods his head so hard his ears flop.

“i can give you something,” Benrey growls. “bend over. bow.” He shoves Feetman’s head down into the sheets, pushing his ass in the air. Feetman stays. 

“what the _fuck,_ ” someone sobs. “where the _fuck_ is my cum?”

“don’t worry,” Benrey croons. “you’ll get your cum. calm down.”

The other voice does not calm down, but it doesn’t say anything else. Feetman blearily turns his head and can just make out- Barmey, that’s Barmey- flushed and sweating, hair mussed, thighs trembling, rubbing at his blindfold with his bound hands until it slips off. His eyes are red and wet, tears freely flowing down his cheeks. 

_“Benre-e-e-e-y,_ ” he wails.

And then, he feels Benrey grip him by the base of the tail, and something wet and muscular teases at his hole. Feetman’s breath speeds up, chest heaving, heart hammering in his chest. 

The feeling vanishes.

“shh shh shh.” Benrey pets at his side. “don’t worry. i’ll go niiiice and easy. kay?”

Feetman buries his face into the sheets and whines. Then he nods, once.

“such a good boy,” Benrey coos. “ _my_ good boy.” Feetman’s tail would be going fast and hard if it weren’t still being gripped. The wet, muscular feeling returns. 

True to his word, Benrey does breach him nice, and slow, and not that deep at all. It feels strange at first, to be rubbed somewhere that’s so tender. But it brushes against _something_ that sends a jolt straight to his dick. Benrey’s tongue lathes over it again, and again, and soon Feetman’s breathing fast again for a different reason entirely. He whines high through his nose when Benrey takes hold of his dripping dick and starts to stroke in tandem to the stroking inside of him, and Feetman feels his belly tense up and his toes begin to curl, something is cumming, something bigger than usual, and-!

It is at this exact moment that Barney kicks open the door. 

Feetman looks up to find him holding his stun stick above his head as he advances on them. It’s already crackling with electricity. Benrey lets go of Feetman in surprise. 

“wugh?” 

The stick comes crashing down.

\--

Never, in the history of humankind, has anything been more bullshit than this. Feetman fumes as he grips the steering wheel tighter. Kick him out, sure! He gets it! Maybe tricking Barmey like that _hadn’t_ been cool. But couldn’t Barney have waited like- ten seconds, even! Fifteen, tops! That’s all he would’ve needed. Didn’t he know how _traumatizing_ someone’s first time could be if it’s too fucked up? He isn’t too happy about the lifelong ban either, but at least he could understand that! 

“You know what this is? I bet he struck out with Freeman,” he mutters savagely to himself, nearly running through a red light. “Taking out his relationship woes on others. That is so- _typical_ ! I don’t know why I thought he was so much better than Barmey and Benrey to begin with. It’s obvious in retrospect! Obvious! _Durr, I’m Barney, I need to cockblock others because I’m too much of a forever alone beta-”_ he cuts himself off suddenly. 

Holy crap, maybe Barney was right. He _had_ been spending too much time there. Or, well, he supposes the connotations of ‘worn out your welcome’ are a little bit different, but close enough. Two out of the three Barneys have been a bad influence on him.

Nothing to do but settle back into life at Casa de Freeman, Feetman decides. He wonders if his alternates ever got a handle on Freemind’s whole cat heat thing. Probably so at this point, right? Freeman was pretty methodical about these sorts of things.

Either way, _nothing_ he was going to walk in on could possibly be crazier than what he’d just been through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I SWEAR I won’t do this to ya’ll again this was the last time I prommy <3


	14. Weekend at Barney's, conclusion (Barney/Barmey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well 
> 
> (Warning for:Implied thoughts about assumed sexual assault near the beginning)

Taking the path from the garage to Barney’s bedroom was akin to walking through a crime scene. Furniture overturned and ripped. Scratches on the floor and walls. Unidentified biohazardous fluids, and lots of it. The sounds emanating from upstairs proved that the criminals had yet to flee. As Barney hurried through, both his worry and his ire grew. But when it became apparent that the source of the sound came from behind _his_ closed bedroom door, well. He was seriously beginning to deliberate adding a couple more assault incidents to the case.

At that point, it’s all it was: deliberation. The active baton to be used as a deterrent. Strong electricity was one of the few things that seemed to affect Benrey, and he reckoned he’d need some special convincing to interruptus his coitus. Feetman might stop out of embarrassment, but Barney could no longer take that as a given. Evidence of him playing accomplice surrounded Barney in spades. 

But when he kicked down the door, and his eyes landed on Barmey...helpless and sobbing, red rear pointed outward as if to perfectly display the thick toy sticking out of him, well. Barney just about lost it. The fact that Benrey and Feetman were completely ignoring his misery in favor of indulging with each other was just icing on the cake. 

Down came the stun stick. One was enough for Feetman to yelp and flee with his tail between his legs and his hands over his kibble and bits. Benrey looked like he was fit to argue after his first, so for him Barney met out a second. He was slow to leave in huff, and nearly caught himself a third for his trouble. 

“Get that dog the _fuck_ out! I want his shit packed!” Barney shouted down the hall after them. “You hear me, Feetman? And I better not see hide or hair of yah when I come back to check!”

“Seriously?!” Feetman had the audacity to argue as Benrey herded them both back to his room. “You can’t-”

Barney extended his baton out in front of him and leveled him with a look that conveyed that he could, and he would. With no hesitation. He was surprised at the extent that his own emotions were welling up over the matter. How foolish he’d been, to give Feetman his trust. How irresponsible. Freemind was right after all: Barney let his feelings for Freeman cloud his judgement of this other Gordon. It damn near broke his heart.

“Fair to say you’ve worn out yer welcome,” he bit out. “Now _git_!”

That taken care of, Barney slammed the door to his own room and looked upon his hardest task. The biggest victim, caught in the crossfire. 

Barmey was where he’d been left: tied up on the bed, face down rear up, tears silently streaming down his face. Barney could barely stand to look at the poor fella.

“Barmey?” he called softly. Barmey didn’t respond. Barney lightly ran a hand up his sticky, scratched up back to better try and get his attention. Barmey moaned miserably and buried his face into the covers.

Barney sucked in air through his teeth. He’d never seen him quite like this. Barmey shows more emotion than Benrey when it came down to it, but he’d always kept things light even during the worst of occasions. Whiney, but light. Hell, he’d barely reacted to Benrey’s poltergeist antics when they’d all first moved in together, not even when Benrey had caught a mouse with his bare hand mid-sentence and proceeded to swallow it whole. Just continued on with their argument on halos or whatnot. 

Now he looked inconsolable. Shattered. What had Benrey and Feetman _done_ to him? 

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, thoughts racing. Think of a plan. First thing’s first was to get him untied. Luckily, Benrey’s knot craftsmanship left much to be desired. He started with Barmey’s wrists to put off the inevitable as long as he could. But they freed fairly easy, leaving Barney with no choice but to move on to his legs. And if he’s freeing his legs, it became near impossible to ignore the dildo for any longer. He was getting an eyeful whether he wanted to or not.

“What in the hell…?” he groaned when he did. Was that his-?

“Lord protect me from committing murder,” he muttered more savagely, feeling his own face begin to heat up in embarrassment. He _knew_ ordering the one with the knot would come back to bite him! Sure, it’d been a drunk purchase, fueled in great part by the experience of a man with his best friend’s face whining for belly rubs and clamoring to sit in his lap. But he really ought to have cancelled the order. Or thrown it out as soon as it had arrived. 

Honestly. He’d never even gotten the chance to use it yet, neither. (Not properly, anyway). He supposed the silver lining is that now he never could. 

Barmey whined into the mattress when he hesitantly poked at it. He let out a breath. Right, right. One thing at a time. Free Barmey’s legs from being tied with rope that….had very obviously also come from the bin hidden under Barney’s bed. 

Damn it! He really can’t have shit in this house. He’d kept all this from...a while back, to say the least. In his defense, a lot of the equipment's too pricey to just throw away. Keeping the pieces oiled up and whatnot had become a habit, one that happened to be very meditative. There’s no way he could have known it’d be stolen and used by anyone else.But none of that stopped him from being overladen with even more guilt. 

That does it, he decided. Now that it’d been used to hurt someone, he’s going to burn all of it. Should’ve gotten rid of it a long time ago anyway.

After unwinding the rope, he carefully lowered a shaky and teary-eyed Barmey down onto his belly and looked over to the part of the task he least looked forward to. He put his hands on his hips and studied it silently. He’d make Barmey take the dildo out of his own ass under most other circumstances, but he’s obviously too tuckered out.

“Hey,” he pushed at Barmey’s shoulder. “How much does it hurt?”

“huh?” Barmey sniffled.

“The di- the toy. In you.” Barney said gruffly. Best to act clinical about this sort of thing. “Pain scale, one to ten.”

Barmey raised his head up enough to glare at Barney with red, teary eyes. “it doesn’t,” he snapped. He plopped his face back into the mattress. Another sob wracked through his frame.

Barney pressed his lips together. Was he really going to be a pig headed idiot about _this?_ He could understand wanting to buck up in the face of shame, but it was so out of character. Barmey’s near notorious throughout the county for his talent of complaint. 

“I’m gonna try and pull it out, real slow,” he assured him. He took hold of the base between thumb and forefinger, but stopped when Barmey made another pained noise. “What’s wrong?”

Barmey remained sulkily quiet. 

Barney felt his patience start to slip. The overall awkwardness and guilt over the situation was getting to him. “You gotta tell me when something’s wrong, I ain’t a mind reader,” he snapped. He thoughtlessly smacked at the back of Barmey’s thigh. “C’mon now.”

Barmey squirmed and gave a little shriek at the smack. “Shit. Sorry.” Barney rubbed at it soothingly, feeling his guilt grow heavier. He can’t be the one to panic and act on impulse. He needed to think. Could Barmey be hurting too much to speak? Was his mind...elsewhere? Subspace? Sub _drop_? How far had those monsters actually pushed him?

“Sorry,” he repeated, quieter.

Barmey gave a loud sniff and said something into the covers, too muffled to be decipherable. 

“What?”

Barmey raised his head up again. “i said my _meat_ hurts!” Down went his face back into the covers. 

“Your meat?” Barney’s eyes widened. He hadn’t noticed anything off in his initial assessment, but that didn’t mean nothing’d been _done_ to it.

“Well what... _what did they_ _do_?” Barney demanded, voice growing dangerously dark. He nearly saw red as his imagination ran away from him. Benrey, or Feetman, or both, doing unspeakable things to Barmey’s genitals while the latter screamed in horror.

Barmey laughed, sounding a tad hysterical. “it’s what they _didn’t_ do,” he answered sulkily, voice still muffled. “thanks to you.”

He must be confused, Barney determined. And come to think of it, it was pretty hard to examine the full damage with Barmey so...dirtied up. He can’t imagine forcing the toy out with Barmey still so tense. It looked stuck in there good. For all he knows, that would just make any potential damage worse. 

“We’ll leave that alone for now,” Barney announced. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.” Cleaning’s part of basic first aid, ain’t it? “Can you move?”

The answer to that question turned out to be ‘not really.’ But with the help of Barney slinging Barmey’s arm over his shoulder and a steadfast refusal to look anywhere other than directly ahead, he managed to drag them both to his in-suite bathroom. 

Once he propped Barmey up against the shower wall, the next problem became apparent: if Barmey couldn’t move, Barney would need to get in there with him. Which necessitated taking his clothes off, too, and well- it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle for him to do so. They’re almost identical, all things considered, so it’s not like either one of them’ll be seeing anything surprising. He needed to stop overthinking these things. This shouldn’t be about _him._ The focus needed to be on helping Barmey. 

Barmey seemed content to lean heavily on his side against the shower wall, body turned away from the door. He refused to meet Barney’s eye or acknowledge any questions Barney had altogether. Barney sighed and got to work carefully scrubbing him down, mindful to be gentle over any scratches or bruises. All things considered, the marks on his back were surprisingly light. Little to no bruising on his rear either. They must not have used the switch or the paddle, despite the very obvious temptation of Barmey’s pale skin and bratty personality.

…Which was good. All things considered. 

Barney decided to skip touching his ass for now. Barmey still looked so tense and tender. Maybe he should wash his hair next? It might get him to relax a little more, and from the looks of it his head needed a good shampooing anyway.

But when his fingers skirted the back of his head, Barmey’s hand shot out to grab his wrist. 

“don’t.” he said shortly. Barney could see his back tense. His grip tightened to painful, shoulders shaking. “don’t…” he choked. 

“Aw hell,” Barney frowned. “I should’ve asked.” 

Barmey didn’t respond.

“It’s okay, kid,” Barney pressed, reaching for him again. “It’s over. You’re goin' to be-”

“ _it’s not okay,”_ Barmey interrupted, voice wavering and angry. He whirled around, fresh tears in his eyes, and pushed hard enough at Barney’s chest for him to stumble back a step in surprise. 

“not anymore!” 

The motion must have sapped his last little bit of strength because he fell back against the wall and began to sink to the shower floor. His hair was now wet enough to plaster against his forehead. It was hard to differentiate the water droplets running down his face from tears. 

“you always ruin everything!” he cried.

Barney gaped at him. “What?”

“forcing me to watch. like a cuck,” Barmey ticked off on his fingers between gasps. “ verbal humiliation. from being tricked. being. being called a whore f-for a fake. knot. making me. forcing me to- to clean up loads. like a...like a little bitch. b-bullying me into….into sucking toes. or. or whatever they wanted.”

He broke down completely, hiding his face in his hands as he sobbed. 

“All that potential when I was _that_ desperate to nut, gone! It’s all gone! That shit was bound to make me cum my brains out, and you ruined it! And now...now you’ve kicked Feetman out, so I’ll n-never...get...the chance aga-a-a-in!” he bawled. “It’s not _fa-a-a-a-ir_!”

He took a deep breath, snatched the bottle closest to him, and hurled it at Barney’s head. _“Bastard!”_

Barney felt absolutely gobsmacked. The mostly-empty bottle smacked harmlessly against his forehead and fell to bounce against the floor between them.

“You…” he moved his mouth soundlessly. Couldn’t get the words out for a good long moment. Was this what Freeman felt like on a daily basis? “Wanted... _that?”_

“No SHIT, Sherlock!” Barmey snapped. “It was a dream come true! What did you think, I’m some sort of pussy? Some delicate fucking flower?!” he scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“That’s not exactly-” Barney started, mind still reeling. It was almost too much for him to believe. Could he have misinterpreted the situation _that_ badly?

“and it wasn’t even that gay,” Barmey sniffed. “cause it was with another one of _me_ , idiot! and he even included gordon...i mean feetman, if i don’t look at him directly, it’s really just like- like-” he broke off, sobbing again. 

Barney simultaneously felt an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes in exasperation and his heart clench in sympathy. He doubted Barmey even realized what he was saying. He really was a lovestruck fool, same as the rest of them. And while there was no accounting for taste -especially since Barney had just had the leastmost pleasure of making Freemind’s acquaintance- he had to wonder. If Barney were trapped here, with no way of contacting Freeman and no hope of meeting him any time soon, how long might it take for _him_ to break? 

He’d like to claim it’d be a good long while, but the proof to the contrary was currently sticking out of Barmey’s ass.

Barmey took another deep breath. He let his arms fall to his sides. “i hate you,” he said tonelessly. 

Barney tsked.“You don’t mean that.” 

“bro, look at how painfully hard i am,” Barmey spread his legs a bit to gesture at his dick, still bright red and weeping against his stomach. “my balls are asari blue! you really think making me shower is nicer than letting me get fucked stupid?”

He weakly slammed his fist against the wall to the accompaniment of an even weaker grunt.

What could Barney possibly say to all that? He still thought what he did was right, given all the information he knew. But it’d also clearly been a fuck up. He wasn’t as smart or clever as a Gordon. He couldn’t just quip back a clever retort.

He held out his arm and waited. Listened to the pitter-patter of the shower spray and watched droplets slowly crawl down the steamed-up door. Eventually, Barmey was ready to grab onto it to get pulled back up to his feet. They lapsed into an awkward silence.

Barmey let him finish scrubbing him off, though he still forbade Barney from touching his hair, and he still refused to look at him. It was sort of a penance in and of itself for Barmey’s swollen dick to be dangling in front of Barney’s face when he squatted down to rub down his legs, he supposed. 

Finally, all was done except for the most difficult task of all. There was no more putting it off. 

“Turn round and spread ‘em,” Barney said gruffly. If he didn’t get this thing out of Barmey now, it might get sucked in too deep. The last thing they needed was a trip to the emergency room.

He grabbed at Barmey’s hip with one hand for support. The other grasped the base of the dildo. It was easier to keep hold with most of the lube washed off. 

“Get ready,” Barney warned. He slowly began to pull it out. When he got past the base, Barmey let out a strangled noise. Barney could see how his rim was fighting to accommodate the stretch and stopped. “You good?”

“yeah,” Barmey choked. 

“Okay,” Barney said hesitantly. “You let me know what to do.” He started to pull again. Jesus, this thing was fat. He’s in awe Barmey managed to take it in the first place. 

Barmey’s hips spasmed. Barney paused again. 

“Barmey,” he began warningly. 

“mmph, okay,” Barmey panted. “maybe- maybe push it back in a little more? please?”

That actually made sense. He could slowly stretch him out again to get the knot loose. Barney widened his own stance to better balance himself on the wet shower floor and obliged. He slid the dildo back in a little bit, and back out. In, and out. Back, and forth. Slowly but surely working the knot out of him.

The water began to run cold, but it was just as well. As he continued, Barmey started to pant harder, spread his legs a little wider. Rock his hips back in tiny increments. 

Barney wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Barmey was doing. But if his outburst was true, well- Barney felt too bad to say anything. 

But watching Barmey wiggle his hips like that and pant against the tile was making him feel mighty strange all of a sudden. He’d be lying if his own dick wasn’t giving a twitch or two. 

The bite wound on his palm throbbed. 

He gripped Barmey’s hip tighter. “You’re doin’ good,” he said, fighting to keep the gravel out of his voice. “We’re almost at the thickest part.” 

He licked his lips. “Think you can take it for me?” 

“ye- mmph. maybe- not yet,” Barmey gasped. “angle it.”

He’s not sure what possessed him- guilt, he told himself- but Barney obliged. Tilted the dildo ever so slightly, pushing it in enough for the knot to rub against the spot he knew Barmey liked. He continued to slowly thrust it in and out. 

“Like this?”

“yeah,” Barmey moaned. One of his hands slid down to shamelessly start stroking himself. “right there- harder-”

Barney exhaled out through his nose. His face felt hot. His dick was on its way to half chub. His arm pumped harder as if possessed. Some of the scratches on it were reopening, and they itched something fierce.

“Well lookitchu,” he rasped. “Greedy little opportunist, aintcha?” 

Barmey moaned and rocked his hips back harder, stroking himself faster. 

He’s taking it so nicely, Barney thought deliriously. He fucked the knot back in a little harder. Barmey moaned louder. 

...But the point of all this was to remove it. 

Barney shook his head rapidly to clear his thoughts and clamped an iron grip on Barmey’s hip, forcing his movements to a halt. Barmey’s whine made his dick jump again but- no. 

“Don’t go trying to skirt the rules like you usually do,” Barney growled. Barmey shivered. “Be a good boy an’ push.”

“wanna cum so bad,” Barmey whined. He had not stopped stroking himself. “please, barney!”

Barney groaned deep in his chest at that cute little ‘please’. Barmey’s wanting was so thick, he could feel it. Almost smell it on him, like a musk. He wanted to- wanted to pin Barmey against the wall and pump him good, or pull it out and plaster again him, bite into the back of his neck, and-

“You can cum when you pass the knot,” he said roughly. He renewed his efforts back toward his original task of pulling it out.

“no i can’t, i need- haaah- need the potion,” Barmey babbled. “lemme, i’ll suck you off, it’ll be good, please-”

Potion? Barney hadn’t the first idea what that could mean, and he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to guess. Seemed to him that the brat he’s got under his hand was trying to sweet talk his way out of a command.

“No, you don’t,” he growled. The grip on Barmey’s hip tightened to bruising hard. “Let it go. Let go and then you can cum for me. C’mon now.”

Barmey whimpered pathetically but quit his backtalk.

Barney pulled the dildo back further, and further, watched Barmey’s rim stretch wider, until the thickest part breached. Barmey was breathing hard, thighs trembling, both hands back to bracing against the wall as he did his best to push it out for him and not squirm too hard.

“hah- a-a-a-a- _ah!_ ” he whimpered, loud enough to echo in the stall. 

Barney was panting, too. “ _There_ we go,” he groaned as the knot finally, _finally_ popped out. With the hardest part over with, finishing its removal should go off without a hitch. 

He tried to pull out the rest straight off, he really did. But Barmey was still trembling and whimpering, and he _still_ hadn’t cum despite acting so good. 

And really, come to think of it, Barney _did_ owe him that much. 

He pressed Barmey close against the wall. Slowly but steadily rutted the head of the dildo against the spot he knows must be _achingly_ sensitive at this point. Stuck his fingers into Barmey’s mouth in a vain attempt to muffle his moans. 

“Keep strokin’ yerself,” he growled into Barmey’s ear. “Just like that. _Good._ ” Barmey shuddered against him. 

“Gosh, you’re loose now,” he lilted. “Really can take it like a champ, can’t yah?” 

“n-no,” Barmey whined, dragging his tongue against Barney’s fingers in the process.

“Yes, you can,” he crooned back meanly. “Bet you got used all sorts of ways. _Let_ yerself get used. Before I walked in on you,” Barmey seized up and shuddered harder. 

“Ooh, you made quite a purdy sight. Ass in the air, fully stuffed, crying ‘’cause, what? You wanted to cum so bad?”

Barmey sealed his lips around Barney’s fingers and sucked on them instead of responding.

“ _Don’t_ go avoidin’ the question.” He made sure the next thrust was a little harder, just shy of painful. 

Barmey opened his mouth again to gasp.

“You wanted to cum? Huh?” he cooed. “Yeah? That desperate for it?”

“y-----” Barmey choked as Barney continued to fuck the tip into him with short, mean thrusts. 

“Hm?”

“ _yuh,”_ Barmey gasped.

“Do 'bout anything to, woncha? Suckin’ on my fingers like a whore.”

“yeshhh,” he slurred. 

“Then cum for me,” he ordered hoarsely, not so much fucking him with the dildo anymore as rubbing sweet little circles into him. He was breathing hard, dick flush and hanging heavy between his legs.

Barmey moaned shamelessly against his fingers.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Barney growled deeper, gritting his teeth. He sped up his rubbing. “Cum for me. _Right now._ ”

Barmey seized up and came with a shout, splattering against the wall and between his feet.

He fell forward against the tile, taking deep, gasping breaths. Limp. Heaving.

Barney pulled the dildo out entirely and pressed himself flushed up against Barmey’s back. He reached around to take Barmey in hand. Stroked him through the rest of his orgasm.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Thaaaat’s it. Let it all out, darlin'.”

His own dick was pressed right between Barmey’s cheeks. He couldn’t help grinding into the damp warmth of his skin. It would be so easy to slip in, he thought feverishly. Take him right here while he squirms, overstimulated. 

He felt the wound on his hand throb again and suddenly spilled right onto Barmey’s lower back with a grunt.

They have to clean themselves off again after that, obviously. Neither of them spoke a word about what just happened. Barney still felt light headed after his release, and Barmey seems too deliriously exhausted to snark about it. 

That’s one problem solved, he figured. 

The other one glared at him darkly from behind the crack of the door when Barney went to fetch the first aid kit for his own injuries. They didn’t _look_ infected, but he didn’t want to take a chance. No harm in treating it.

Barney stopped short and stared at the single eye visible in the shadows. He adjusted his robe.

“Sent Feetman off, then?”

Benrey said nothing. 

Barney cleared his throat. “Barmey told me what happened while I was uh. Tending to him. I apologize for jumpin’ to conclusions. But I reckon we’re even, what with all the rules and basic manners you’ve deliberately flouted.”

Benrey said nothing.

“This ain’t Feetman’s home,” Barney pressed. “It was ‘bout time for him to hit the trail anyway. We should leave it at that.”

The eye retreated back into the shadows. The door creaked shut without another word. 

Barney shook his head and continued back down the hall toward his bedroom. Benrey just needed time to sulk, was all. He was an entity bound by the rules of societal manners. He’s _got_ to understand that what he did was wrong, even by his own unfathomable metric. And even if that didn’t end up being the case, Barney was still going to make him clean up the house. That’s non-negotiable. 

He didn’t have the energy to worry about that. It’d been one helluva day, and all he wanted to do was collapse into a fresh set of sheets. Soft and warm and dry enough to just about make him purr with satisfaction.

Everything else was future-Barney’s problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wraps up the Barney House arc. Next one takes place almost exclusively at Casa de Freeman


End file.
